


a little twisted

by SapphireMoons



Category: Disney - All Media Types, Twisted-Wonderland (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Violence, Character-centric Chapters, Contracts, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Drabble Collection, Dubious Ethics, Emotional Manipulation, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fluff, Gen, Implied Reincarnation, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loosely Interconnected, Manipulation, Mental Breakdown, Murder, Overblot (Twisted-Wonderland), Overblot Exploration, Poison, Pre-Canon, Psychological Horror, Quote Challenge, Retrospective of Canon, Revenge, Transmigration, Villains
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:20:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29281350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireMoons/pseuds/SapphireMoons
Summary: Quotes Challenge on Disney's Twisted Wonderland!(basically I find a quote, *inspired* then boom, it exists)Will eventually feature all the characters (probably), the Great Seven, character studies, (mostly) what-ifs, possible AUs, etc.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 27





	1. victory

**Author's Note:**

> *hides from KNB fandom* I'M SORRY. I found out about these bois and I fell in love again. So... I'm getting this out first~
> 
> So, some ground rules here:
> 
> 1) All relationships are platonic unless otherwise stated. If you see a ship or relationship that is up to you, but the way it was written is all platonic. I don't really write romance (explicit), best I really do is implied shit.
> 
> 2) Requests are not here to be made. I do not promise any works for anyone unless I have pondered over it enough to actually do it. I can hear out ideas, sure. But I can't promise that they will be made into reality. End of the story.
> 
> 3) Rating is for my penchant for dark themes. If you have read any of my other works, I can't help the angst, mental issues, violence or blood - life is colored with this stuff and these are no fairy tales. So, you have been warned. (And will be warned again because I will have Trigger Warnings for each chapter).
> 
> 4) Each chapter is based on a quote, which will be the first sentence in Bold and Italic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Retrospective on the Great Seven and how they all gather at Night Raven College once again, in a second coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Detailed Beheadings, Mentioned Executions, Death of Many (many) Disney Characters, Implied Murder, Graphic Details of Oceanic Deaths, Slavery, Poison, Unlawful Deaths, Twisted Logic and Ethics (or Lack Thereof), and Historical Bias / Untruths.

**_'that's the thing about heroes, little one. they have to win every time. the villains, however, only have to win once.'_ **

_The severity of the Queen of Hearts. Yes, indeed._ The Ace of Hearts purses his lips at the carnage on the grounds, the heads polka-dotting the lawn. Pale visages with bloody stumps, lifeless and bland at conversation. It reminds him of the half-painted roses in the courtyard that the Alice girl couldn’t finish when she was assisting the ever-so careful Four of Diamonds.

That reminds him, he needs to finish those, les his own vertebrae be severed on this execution day.

Dramatics are the legacy of Wonderland, the to-be-trait of the Heartslabyul dorm. And in public punishment, they spared no expense as the guillotine hung menacingly in the clearing. Tall and looming, always threatening, always watching — truly their Queen's favored way to rid of souls she did not care for was appropriately chosen to reflect her short temper.

He does not know if it is the schink of the blade as it cuts into flesh and bone, sharpened by the seemingly happy-go-lucky Four of Diamonds for his Queen. Or the obedient yet protective pour of the tea that clinks in the Queen's gloved hands, her Three of Clovers, ready in the sidelines. Or maybe, the rough but efficient delivery of the Two of Spades by his Queen's command, the criminal on her knees, her cry literally cut off midway. Or was it the feel of the ropes slipping from his hands to lower the blade that can't stop echoing in his frame.

A familiar blonde head rolls from a kick by another card he knows, arms full of hedgehogs. Not particularly bright, but bright enough to know how to not get his head offed. He frowns, waving of a few Hearts to follow him in gathering the flamingos while ordering another platoon to paint those roses. 

None of them dare to falter and dawdle. Not if they wanted to keep their necks intact. 

The Ace of Hearts does not have an opinion, one way or another, really. It was simple to survive in Wonderland.

Follow the rules of the Queen of Hearts, and you will keep your head. The hundreds of rules or your life.

To those who possessed a brain and basic sense of self-preservation, the choice was obvious. But the Ace of Hearts stares at the opulence of the rose gardens and the heart decor of the palace for a moment before turning away. 

The Queen of Hearts is not fair. Nor kind or forgiving.

 ~~She never has been any of those things.~~

But it is her head that is adorned with the golden crown of Wonderland, ruling them with her infamous phrase that sends chills in the spine, threatening to sever it. And in the end, she was the one who kept her head were it was supposed to be.

_On one’s shoulders._

The Three of Clovers collects the heads of the ones-who-did-not behind him as he turns away. He does not meet his eyes. The Ace of Hearts doesn't expect him to.

~~It is time to prepare for the Unbirthday. He has roses to paint.~~

The Pridelands, a shadow of what it once was, dry and practically unlivable. They were under the rule of Scar, who allowed even the hyenas to join them — disrupting the circle of life and the chain of predator and prey.

~~_Or so they said._ ~~

Instead of barren lands of starvation and bones of prey to litter the savannah, the land was prosperous as it was under the rule of the previous kings. But this reign was different. He was the King of Beasts, the ruler that not only expanded their land but allowed for the migration of other beasts to join the ranks of the land.

Wolves, not native to the dry savannah, arrived in the darkness and stayed. Most were either in packs or solitary, but all enjoyed the lush hand of the Pride Rock thus silencing their voices in inquiry. But the baleful gazes were undeniable and glaring — knowing that there was more to the new land of settlement.

 _It did not take them long to find out, really._ One of the young hyenas giggled, humming in his maw beside a white wolf, a rare albino of his kind.

Large and intimidating for his age, the youth did not necessarily agree with their sovereign's methods but he made no indication to challenge it. 

~~Not if he wished to be a part of what made the land so prosperous.~~

The living lived through the dead.

Never before did such a saying be held in such esteem than it did in the reign of the King of Beasts. 

_Truly, the King of the Beasts, with his scar as proof, was the one who wielded the most tenacity._

The wolf curled in himself to shield from the night air and allows a small growl to escape his lips that issues a small snort from the hyena beside him. With a soft giggle, the smaller mammal moves toward their king. No one, for reasons unknown, knew why but only that one hyena was able to be beside their ruler without causing his hackles to rise.

~~A reminder of a more tremulous time, the image of a small cub crushed with his father plays before the wolf silences his mind.~~

Cunning and sly, the wolf admires his king, like any other cub born after his coronation would.

Because he is the one who stubbornly lived the longest even with the weight of being king upon his back.

~~_Yet to be killed for his throne._ ~~

Landwalkers mistaken the ocean as a source of safety, dazzled by the calm surface to see the tumultuous depths below — the dangers that lurk just under, dwells creatures that play by a completely different set of rules, where the smallest prey was not animal nor plant but something alien — or even a place of salvation for the sustainability it gives them. 

But they are mistaken, for there is no land for the survival of the fittest in the waters.

~~There is no land at all.~~

Instead, there is compassion _~~with a price.~~_

Founded by the Sea Witch, who rules with the trident of the Sea King.

Whose remains are a legacy and a lock of hair.

How truly kind of the Witch to allow the privilege of having remains. Most sea creatures, once killed in the moment of surprise, liquified and consumed of the fleshy bits, were left for the crabs and bottomfeeders to nibble at in a feeding frenzy, sharp and biting for every morsel to consume whole.

But the loss of life was no large consequence, it was a given, a fact of life.

The death of a Sea King and his most favored daughter was no different — there were other princesses left over.

There was a reason why sea creatures had many children at once and adoption was commonplace in Atlantica. ~~There was always an abundance of orphaned children in the reefs if they survived long enough to be adopted, at least.~~

 _How compassionate._ An eel hums, mouth ajar as he slithers over the funeral procession. The sea is murky with the occasion for he is not the only one to watch. All of the other sea vultures stared on, waiting for the princesses to slip — none of them had ever the pleasure of biting into royal merflesh.

 _Merfolk were stringy and at times, screamed a bit hysterically when dying but kept him fed well enough._ He pauses in his thoughts, a familiar tendril of black near him. _So, she came to watch too._

The procession pauses, but only for a moment, as the leftover princesses glare over at his direction. The eel flicks his tail lazily. Everyone knows that they will do nothing because like all the other mer under the rule of the former King Triton, their illusion of a safe home had burst.

~~All the power and courage to protect in them were laid in the small coral box beside them, dead.~~

The Sea Witch sees her pets in him. She is his prey, in accordance to the food chain.

But there is _compassion_ in the ocean. So, he lets her pet him.

~~_Because she is the one who calls it so._ ~~

The world could have been the chessboard of games to the Sorcerer of the Sand, the tale of the thief and the princess to die before it could even be finished. All pieces in his puppet show, like the Sultan for years. 

But it isn’t.

~~_At least not to the common man._ ~~

Instead, the world continues. Changing and moving without the feared darkness that the peasant outcried. The tale of the thief and the princess still alive in the murmurs of little children as mothers tuck them into the night. Only the ending is not as light-hearted in truth. But that was no concern. It was not like the truth mattered all that much. Not anymore.

But one would have to be blind to not see it. 

The way things moved to the whims of one being in particular. There was a name for it — under the veil of the night and lost to the dunes of the land. Yet the word spread like the ambitions of men, absolutely and completely.

 _Deliberation_.

The movement of subtle suggestion that will soon be reality if taken seed.

Yet that is the irony of the principle, nothing grows in sand.

Nothing but beings of thorns and hard skin, desperate to survive and live. The air is arid, the soil too loose and dry to allow true roots to implant themselves, the water nonexistent and rarer than gold — the motion of living in such circumstances, what a joke.

 _It is no wonder then._ An architect of the new palace stares into the dunes, a scarab humming in the air. _That comforts of soft materials are kept from them. They do not understand it. Things outside of their spectrum of accepted life. Like toys that moved in accordance to the child they were bought by._

For it was all under the deliberation of the Sorcerer of Sand.

~~_What did he, a servant, know of such things of beings beyond his incompetent mind?_ ~~

She died. Rather gracefully too, may she add.

Poisons were such a delicate game, you see. To the distrustful, you must prove that there is none and make them believe it — at times, all is needed is your word while with others, it may take more than you are willing to give up. To the naive, well... they would be none the wiser, no?

Nature is the first woman to use it, bright colors to warn those wise enough to see it. And she is far from being the last lady to use the deadly concoctions on her enemies. ~~And in this one, the required collateral damage.~~

The Beautiful Queen is not unkind.

She is merely unrelenting. With poison, it was like dying in one's sleep — sleep for eternity — the moment the girl died was the moment all of her work comes to fruition. 

Her mirror told her the truth. Her huntsman failed and lied to her. Her poisoned apple, harmless and perfect in appearance like the very first beings that wielded poisons, belied the horror within and won the place that was rightfully hers. 

She cackles in her sullied hands, pristine and white. _Unblemished_.

~~(All was fair in love and war.~~

~~She stares down at the second glass coffin, containing the boy that believed in fairy tales of a prince's kiss to awaken his princess.~~

~~_Fool._ She near snarls. _The coloration of her dead daughter should have said it all._~~ ~~~~

**_~~Poisonous. Do not eat.)~~ _ **

_And she was the fairest of them all._

The Beautiful Queen remained unrelenting.

It mattered not whom.

The hunter stares as another princess chokes, this time decorating the ballroom with her choking corpse. Her glassy eyes go well with the golden reflection of the Queen’s throne. The woman he serves knows he cannot hunt for her, not after the death of the first. 

She knows and has not asked it of him again, nursing a new apple in her hands.

~~_For she is only unrelenting to those in her way._ ~~

Like the benevolent sorcerer and those of the Great Seven, the afterlife is still the same. The dead came to one of three places as per told in the Greek mythos — Elysium, the fields of Asphodel, or the Fields of Punishment. ~~Even after Hades' rise in power.~~

The dead remain so, ~~unless the Lord of the Dead doesn’t want them to.~~

And in his diligence, they are never summoned for those who wish it for noble reasons. For a god has no time for such trivialities, not when he can do it for far more important notions — what was an annoying reason of so-called love when there was a throne to overturn?

 _There was once a hero._ The mortals whisper among themselves of someone who dared to challenge the god.

~~_How foolish and so very mortal._ ~~

It is even more dull when the rumor of the man being formerly a god. _An abomination, clearly._

~~_What did a former god know of being mortal?_ ~~

_The Lord of the Dead was so diligent to be able to gather all of such creatures here._ The vengeful soul hums, gaze surveying the assortment of Titans, forgotten monsters of the gods’ creation, throwaways and of the kind. The invitation was not vague but rather simple in its' wording — those who had a grudge against the gods, I, Hades have a proposal. 

_Who knew that the god, alone and ruled of the dead, was a being so eloquent. After all, all of time was spent with the dead, Lord or not._

The soul stares as one of his kin — _was it?_ — is shattered into nothingness within the Styx, washing the god of the crime. Then again, murder was nonexistent. Many things here were nonexistent. They were dead, after all.

~~There is no blood in the afterlife. Therefore, where was the crime.~~

They were under his diligence, and considering, they had been for a while. After all, if it were any of his other siblings down here, would they have been as sane ~~(was that the word for it?)~~ as he?

But it was a useless thought now, wasn't it?

_~~For he was the only true god left.~~ _

A garden of thorns, a fae scorned and a sleeping princess.

Like all of the fairytales, the story begins with once upon a time. But unlike all of the others, this one does not teach young children that they can kill dragons. Instead, it teaches them that a small mistake can ruin not only themselves, but _more_. 

All the parents of the sleeping princess needed to do was give a proper invitation, really, a mannerism that is only proper — they had invited three of them, what was one more? It was only right then, that the king and queen that failed to do so towards the Witch of Thorns faced the consequences.

_Through their child._

Karma was elegant in her revenge, savage and cathartic — what you do not pay in your lifetime, your descendants shall bear for you as you watch, powerless as they struggle so beautifully. ~~And so was the witch.~~

Cursed to sleep with the prick of a finger.

~~_The personification of the first mistake, the piercing insult inflicted by the foolish generation._ ~~

She does not awaken.

The blonde princess may as well be _dead_.

But that would be too kind, and the witch never courted such needless gestures.

The three fairies, who did their best to alter the curse in every way, watch as the beautiful princess slumbers on, blissfully in her dreams. The faux daughter that they raised for the king and queen, who do everything for their child, giving up much.

~~_Only to lose her to the silver of a spinning needle._ ~~

In her elegance, the Witch of Thorns is not so distasteful to allow her curse to continue.

Instead, she takes her majestic form of a fearsome dragon, and allows the kingdom to glow in green flames.

~~The slumbering princess, in her ignorance, unable to do anything but _burn_.~~

Night Raven College honors the Great Seven, grand beings in this world and live on in the students of each respective dormitory — teaching all of them the proper uses of their magic. The details of their respective legends are obscure and lost to history, the topics of great debate for years but if there was anything that is agreed upon to be truth — it is the statements engraved on their pedestals at their feet.

_~~ And so it is, since anyone alive who would protest this no longer walked on this earth. ~~ _

Yet, a detail overlooked in this institution of learning that is so routine, is the selection of students via the Mirror of Darkness. Like all other schools of magic, their students had to have magic to attention, the Mirror of Darkness was merely seen a part of this process of weeding and dividing students into the new homes.

~~_Or so it was widely believed._ ~~

But what is unsaid is that why they are chosen by the Mirror of Darkness.

The Mirror of Darkness, rumored to have begun the tale of the eldest of the Seven, is the sole witness to all of the Seven’s lifetimes, choices and victories — a fact only known by the Headmaster, passed verbally from predecessor to successor. 

And for years, it has awaited for the return of the Seven to grace it’s reflection once more.

“Headmaster.” The mirror hums, a year before it allows the first magic-less soul to pass through the halls of the Seven, after the newest batch of first-years have left. “The Seven. All of them have finally come.”

Dire Crowley, his only audience, sucks a breath. _“…Truly?”_

The Mirror does not repeat itself.

Instead, it reflects green flames with only one message for that year’s first years as it smiles in the void, looking forward to what the reincarnations have in store for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far, hi~ hope you liked it~
> 
> Soo the setting of TWSTW is that the Great Seven 'won' without much details on it and like the other people on this site, it makes all of us v curious on the 'how' aspect as well as the immediate aftermath.
> 
> While the game most definitely shows how the Seven of them are revered and prospered, there is another thing I wanted to address in this chapter -- that how the 'world' does not necessarily 'end' because of this. Instead, whether it be through twisting the tale or allowing the rest of the world to go on -- it's clear that to destroy the world is a bad move because the Great Seven also live in it.
> 
> Kinda how like in the game, yes, the Seven Dorms are not 'friends' and are generally assholes that look out for themselves but they all are collectively aware that the school (or their world) to be standing is in their good interest.
> 
> But at the same time, they are not saints or anything. They are villains for crying out loud. A little murder never hurt anyone, hm?


	2. the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What-If the characters that Overblot weren't saved from themselves? or Vice Dorm Leaders (and one Dorm Leader) say fuck the world.
> 
> Failed!Overblot AU from Riddle to Vil, since only up to Chapter 5 has been released.
> 
> There is also a quote associated with each Chapter MC at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Implied Mental Disorders / Issues, Unhealthy Child Rearing, Main Character Deaths (or they might as well be) and Character Deaths, Implied Mental Breakdowns, Beheadings, Amputation, Undying Loyalty, Angst, Poison, Lack of Ethics / Morals. 
> 
> Also this AU takes place with the assumption of no-protag.

_**'a hero will choose the world over you. a villain would kill the world for you.'** _

_The Queen of Hearts that Lost Her Head_

Trey stares in abject horror as Riddle hovers over Heartslabyul, the monstrosity that is a mock Queen of Hearts behind him, pulling him like the broken porcelain doll he has been his entire life. Despite his piercing calls for blood in the name of his precious rules, there is no mistaking the crystalline tears that drip from those too-pale cheeks and wine eyes — Riddle is in _pain_ and this is his tantrum.

“The world’s rules are mine! Mine! MInE! _MINE!”_ Black lips snarl with a raised hand of reddish ink, and to parallel, a tree of red roses with it. 

And true to the second coming of the Queen of Hearts, her reincarnation was fashioned in her dress, ragged and stained with ink — as if Riddle had taken to playing dress-up in his mother’s too-big clothes and had ruined them in his fury for being inadequate in size. And as if to reassure that he was truly hers, a patch of black lace stamped over his childhood friends’ right eye, taking over more than half his face — like a barcode on a toy.

Four half-painted roses bloomed from his waist, as if to symbolize how his satisfaction will never be sated, for they were never to be red and stained with ink, completely ruined.

To mock Trey, the cards that laced from the flowers were of the Queen’s most loyal — and Riddle’s as well — the hearts, spades, diamonds and finally, clovers. Like each one of the failures of the four, whether it be individual or together, were at fault for this tea party of madness.

The black crown that graces Riddle’s hair is not one of a queen. _It is of a tyrant._

A fallen Queen who has forgotten what it means to be one.

Trey grips his magic pen, armed with his fellow cards, tries to save his fallen Queen before he kills himself.

In the end, he doesn’t.

Riddle’s magical pen never clears. And the second coming of Queen of Hearts is _dead_.

Trey grips the scepter of his queen, ink spattered just like everything else, and laughs bitterly — lost without their Queen and her rules. In the wonderland of madness, her system was the only one with any real stability to it.

( _Why does he not see it earlier?_

Che'nya tries to stop him. Saying that this was not what Riddle would have wanted.

Rare anger flares in Trey and when he is backed with Cater, they snarl at the Royal Sword Academy student. This was not a happy-go-lucky academy that allowed little rich princes to get away with anything and everything as long as everyone was happy. Riddle was _gone_. How _dare_ the world be happy.

Che'nya escapes with his head.

_Next time._ Trey assures Riddle, caressing the scepter. _Ace and Deuce will take care of him._

~~Che'nya doesn't come back~~.)

Heartslabyul is littered with heads.

Disobedience to the rules. Riddle would be so upset. That simply would not do.

Ace and Deuce have gathered the hedgehogs and flamingos. Cater has painted all the roses and Trey adjusts the fallen crown of his Queen.

Without the directions of their queen.

~~_What good cards they were._ ~~

_So, awaken already, Riddle._ Trey cries at the Unbirthday Party, ink pooling over as he kneels before his Queen, sealed and still crying within the jewel. _You are not a broken toy, tossed away and forgotten._

He is trapped in his own hell because he would have removed more than just the magic of those he collared. Instead, like his predecessor, heads would have rolled.

But it’s okay now.

~~_For Trey has done it for him._ ~~

_**'The Queen is dead! Long live the Queen!'** _

* * *

_The King of Beasts that Ruled Over Nothing_

Ruggie is missing an arm when Leona is overtaken by the ink that has accumulated over his magic pen. Like those from Afterglow Savannah, it is rare to find anyone who does not know of second prince’s fearsome power.

The ability to reduce anything to sand.

But even rarer than that is to see the second prince execute it. The King’s Roar is a magic that not only undermines who is the king with it’s name alone, but it is a weapon that can make all life in the savannah be obsolete with a mere wave of the wielder’s whim.

Ruggie knows that Leona-san knows this all too well.

Which is why no one is safe when Leona-san is like this — toxic green eyes alert with bloodlust, ear erect for the slightest hint of weaknesses and talons bared to sink into soft flesh. He is a predator ready to assume his crown — collateral or enemy _be damned._

With the inked King of Beasts behind him, Leona smirks arrogantly, looming in his assured triumph. Ruggie does not doubt his King’s confidence. Jack is just as concerned beside him, both with pens in hand.

“I shall be king! _For eternity!”_

Truly, he looked to be a king — everything a king of the beasts would have. With the ebony plume of his mane at his shoulders that fluffed from his golden fangs and claws necklace to the matching sets on his wrists and ankles, the Second Prince even bore the scar of the King of Beasts — highlighted by the symptoms of sheer overblot.

~~If the ink crawling up his arms was not enough.~~

Braids whipping wildly, the madness in those eyes — Ruggie couldn’t recognize them. Leona-san is not kind, nor is he the most sympathetic soul — but he is not _this_.

He is not this power-hungry _abomination_. Leona-san is a king, a king with no kingdom. He didn’t need one to be a _king_.

Of one mind, Jack appears in his vision, fangs bared and back open in his wolf form. With the confidence that he does not have, Ruggie climbs on.

_He has to stop Leona-san._

~~_Before he destroys himself._ ~~

But like his arm, Leona-san doesn’t return.

Leona-san’s wand remains in the field, none of them having the bloodline to remove it. ~~After all, it’s not like it’s master is here to wield it any longer.~~

The hyena wears the bracelet from the remains of his king’s necklace — a symbol of his status — on his right and Jack on the left, where he cannot. Not anymore. Together, they growl and bare their fangs at any soul foolish enough to approach Leona-san’s final resting place.

Cheka is Leona-san’s nephew, Ruggie learns.

The heir to the throne that Leona-san could _never_ have.

Jack says that their dorm is mourning too. Ruggie scoffs. He doesn’t have time for them.

_Leona-san is gone._

And the throne remains unchanged to it. Like he was never a factor in the first place. Like he was never important. Ruggie stares into the messy room that was Leona-san’s.

He doesn’t have the heart to clean it.

His magic flickers under his fingertips. Instead, he has a throne to empty.

~~("Eh? Leona-san... these clothes..."~~

~~"I don't fit them anymore. Take them or throw them out. I don't care."~~

~~Ruggie doesn't say thank you.~~

~~He never gets to.)~~

Afterglow Savannah has no heir. ~~_Not anymore._~~

Ruggie smiles emptily, cradling the two halves of Leona-san’s necklace at the throne.

_Leona-san. Your throne is here._

“You are a king.”

 _Even Jack is here._ The hyena reasons, pulling out a bloody skull — blood lapped away by yours truly. It would not do to savage the throne with crimson. All of the subjects, mirror him as they bow — too white and free of flesh to disobey in the dunes of sand.

Ruggie has reduced them all into sand.

For his king to return to his rightful kingdom.

And as his loyal right hand, Ruggie bows — _waiting_.

_**'Every man is a king so long as he has someone to look down on.'** _

* * *

_The Sea Witch that Could Not Grant Her Own Wish_

Azul is in darkness when Jade and Floyd make it back to Octavinelle.

No longer their calm and collected Sea Witch, instead, in his original form — eyes wide with rampaging destruction for the sake of chaos with eight tentacles instead of two human legs. The consequences and the innocents in his way, mere collateral. 

This was not _their_ Sea Witch.

Instead of smooth, ebony skin — the octopus’ skin is rigid with annoyance, grey skin on his chest revealed at the base of abdomen, decorated with sea shells of their home. But the twins see how _dead_ they are, to decorate one’s form with the remains of the clearly murdered — it is clear just how far gone their prey is by the way he almost revels in this decayed form.

“Give it to me, hm? More, more! I _want_ it! _GIVE IT ALL!”_

Ink circles over Azul like a veil, and it is no surprise — the reincarnated Witch was a master Alchemist — poisoning the dead coral that should have been white to grow cancerously over his shoulders and waist like a partlet, the octopus cackles madly. A black crown adorns his white locks, bracketing it with strings of black pearls as it hangs with jagged threat.

Nothing like the smooth and almost seemingly kind — _with a price_ — manager of Mostro Lounge.

 _“Jade… Floyd…”_ Azul vaguely calls out to them. Those blue eyes crowned with lace and dripping with black tears — they are so _lost_.

Something in the eels ache. ~~Something they do not want to feel ever again.~~

The Leech twins do not answer him. Together, they eye the Sea Witch that wields the trident behind _their_ toy and prey, promising to take him back.

Before Overblot, Azul is not weak. He is a dorm leader in the matter of a year and holds blackmail over the most powerful man in the college — he is a force _because_ of his mind.

And in his Overblotted form, in his madness, it seems that Azul could be one without it as well.

Jade and Floyd grimace at the state of the other in the murky waters.

Once upon a time, Azul was — just like the other prey that twins encountered. Alone, helpless, and weak. But unlike them, Azul made himself powerful, virtually untouchable once he swayed his prey into believing they had a choice — like an anglerfish who knew they had their prey in their jaws. Fueled by vengeance and a need to remove those who attacked him for his weakness, the twins did not see it as a bad thing.

It was _interesting_.

Things with Azul were _always_ interesting.

 _So, come back already._ The two of them urged. He was _their_ Sea Witch. He crawled out of the depths of despair once. Azul could do it _again_.

Azul never leaves his ink pot again.

The headmaster seals him away, magic and tentacles all.

Mostro Lounge sits empty, forlorn and lamps dim — as if the three of them had stepped out for a minute to deal with a customer. Floyd rages in the normalcy of it all. Jade doesn’t stop him. Because nothing is normal ever again.

_How can it be._

His gloved hands tighten, but just barely. For he holds the last remains of their Sea Witch — glasses and the golden necklace that holds the prices of Azul’s Unique Magic. Fragile yet so stubbornly insistent in proving themselves to be _more_.

As Floyd screams and breaks for them, Jade crumples — weeping for them.

~~("Ne, Azul."~~

~~"Hm? What is it, Floyd?"~~

~~Jade smiles as his twin inquires about Azul's potions, nearly spilling one onto himself to octopus' annoyance. A clink and the sound of broken glass cues his needed entrance, keeping his mirth visible.~~

~~The surface was so interesting.~~

~~He was wrong. It wasn't the surface that was interesting.)~~

No one bothers them.

_They don’t dare._

Even in the surface world, it is clear that the Leech twins were not harmless carnivores — and now, without their prey and retainer, it seemed, at least to the untrained eye, they were more revealing as apex predators than ever before. But none of that mattered.

~~Why should it when Azul was gone?~~

Nothing was interesting anymore.

~~How dull it was that the little guppies and zooplankton believed themselves to be worthy enough be the next Sea Witch once the real one had departed.~~

_“Ne, Azul.”_ Floyd hums, speaking to the inky gem within the wand, his tail squeezing the life out of the scum. The Coral Sea of their home is almost unrecognizable — _almost_. _“Come back._ These guys are so annoying. Thinking they can order us around because you did. Right, Jade?”

“That’s right, Floyd.” His twin hums, curling above them, heterochromic eyes glowing and smile leering. “For our dear Azul to come back — he wouldn’t be pleased with all of these poor, unfortunate souls thinking they were anything more than _that_.”

Together with Azul, they lunge.

Blood colors the water as brackish ink gleams in the blue waters, tainting it with his touch — it reminds them of Azul.

_' **There is no fear of the depths, instead, there is great fear of shallow living.'**_

* * *

_The Sorcerer that Never Lost His Status_

Kalim is crying after Jamil Overblots, having taken over the dorm after he had been revealed to be machinating his now-failed coup as vice dorm leader. As Kalim trudges forward, cold and alone — _wasn’t that a novel feeling?_ — he, for the first time in a while, thinks.

_Truly to himself._

It is deafening. Kalim learns, tanned hands gripping his sides, cold. It is so loud to be alone with his thoughts, the revelation that his closest servant has always hated him — despised his lowly status because he always had to serve _him_.

But to entirely blame Kalim was not the answer. It was not like the heir had decided for Jamil and himself to be master-servant — it was merely how life had decided it for them. But maybe that was why Jamil had waited so long to usurp him. Because he was away from the Land of Hot Sands, without their respective parents and were at a place where the only power that mattered was the one in their magical pens. ~~But even then, Jamil’s grades never passed his.~~

Always the servant and master. Nothing more, nothing less.

~~_Even with his efforts._ ~~

_Damn it all._ Kalim laughs bitterly as he trips. The name is in his tongue before he can stop himself.

 _How pathetic._ He can’t even walk properly for less than hour without Jamil.

It takes him less than five seconds to decide what to do when he gets back.

He is going to confront his best friend and servant. Because Jamil is his _best friend_ before he is his servant. ~~Just how much of their relationship was because of their respective status and just how much was real?~~

Jamil was more than just a servant.

He was so smart _and_ — Kalim pauses, in both his sore feet and his thoughts.

Jamil is not… _good_.

That was evident by the way he went behind his back and tried to get the students to overthrow his position as Dorm Leader — Jamil, as much as he would like to deny it and how very much so he _did_ — he was alone and on the outskirts of the dorm because of him. There was no denying the chill on his tanned skin, the still forming bruises on his side, and the piercing stab of betrayal in his chest.

~~_All to be above him for once in their lives._ ~~

It was _his_ fault for not noticing it all this time. ~~Yet… did he have to want power so badly?~~

Kalim, of all people knew, the symptoms of Overblot — the reflection on the person’s thoughts and maddened mental state when they are going through the symptoms. Jamil was fashioned with a turban, only for nobility. Something Jamil would never be able to wear if continued to serve under his master. Red gemstones and golden droplets dangled from his form over his red tunic and black pants — colors that the Sorcerer of Sand regaled himself in, black snakes coiling with open fangs for their master; it was all so obvious in hindsight.

He was not the main character here. Kalim sees. Instead, he is the foolish king that the advisor usurps — if the genie, the rumored final form of the Sorcerer, was not indication enough.

 _Truly, the second coming of the Sorcerer of Sand._ Kalim huffs bitterly, hands gathering the water from his Unique Magic.

Red eyes blazed.

He refused to lose Jamil like this. _Not when he still had so much to say to him._

Jamil can’t hear him anymore when he returns.

He is gone. No longer here to taste his food, to tell him that his behavior is unbecoming to the heir of his last name, to tutor him, to help him — to be his friend.

~~Jamil isn’t here anymore.~~

Kalim stares at his wand. The snake’s eyes stare back at him.

_You are not my master._

He lets it fall. For the snake is right. He is not his master.

~~_He is Jamil’s. And he isn’t here anymore._ ~~

“Come back, Jamil.” Kalim cries at the gem, just as his servant had cried at him with laced Overblot. The last of Jamil. _“It’s a order! Come back!"_

But instead of Jamil’s voice, he hears the abomination that is only hatred and ink.

~~_“This is the absolution of power! My POWER!”_ ~~

_Over and over._

~~("A secret?" A young Kalim blinks, wide-eyed.~~

~~Jamil nods. "It is our secret, Kalim-sama. I request it of you, if I could be so bold."~~

~~Red eyes sparkle. _Jamil never asks him to anything for him!_ "Me do something for Jamil? Of course! It's a promise and our secret! No one will know your Unique Magic, I swear on the Al-Asim name!"~~

~~Jamil smiles softly.)~~

_**'If a servant strives to please his master and studies and takes pains to do it, there are but few masters who would use a servant cruelly.'** _

* * *

_The Beautiful Queen that Could Not Be the Fairest_

Vil is beautiful. It is undeniable to any being with eyes.

Whether it be when he is fussing over the well-being of Epel or when sweat-covered after practice with a determined glint in his purple eyes, Vil is the most pleasant being to grace one’s gaze upon with queenly charisma that is truly Pomefiore.

King of Poison, as Rook bestows his unrivaled Vil.

It is natural then, that Vil is still just as beautiful when he Overblots.

Instead of graceful curves, his Roi du Poison is covered in sharp edges — from the ivory daggers of his golden corset to the tips of his matching taloned fingers. He is robed in their blue, but instead of pristine satin, it is torn and stained with black ink, ruined and unsalvageable — if his Vil were in his right state of mind, the man would have been outraged at the state of his dress. No, this Vil smiles with glee as poison apples liquify the stage, veil and halo of peacock feathers reflecting the vibrant, unearned superiority of his unhinged grin.

_“With this, I am the world’s fairest!”_

In place of his golden diadem, an Overblot lace one mars his porcelain skin, right eye dripping inky tears.

Tears of how ugly he has become — to dare to use other means outside of his own hard work — Rook knows better than others how much that makes Vil hate himself.

He _abhors_ it.

_~~But yet, he did it anyway.~~ _

Ink and toxic fumes threaten his life and the lives of everyone but like all the other times, Rook cannot help but look at his beautiful Vil and break a little inside.

 _“_ _Oh, Vil…”_

Vil is laughing as ink drips from his face, lips barking with a roughness that Epel is not familiar with — the lavender boy eyes the witch behind his Dorm Leader, gnarled hands and patchy cloak and knows it is the Beautiful Queen.

The Queen was known for her unrelenting nature, willing to any lengths.

Epel is not stupid despite his humble beginnings.

He knows _he_ is the cause of this. ~~If only he wasn’t so stubborn, if only he listened.~~

_~~("Little Potato. Honestly, what are we to do with these abysmal manners? Back straight!")~~ _

And he needs to _fix_ it.

He twirls his magic pen, right behind Rook.

_He needs to._

To spite them all, Vil doesn’t let them.

Rook is holding Vil’s Book of Poisons when it slips from his grasp for the first time since Vil is gone. _Poison Apple_ , it reads, mocking in the candlelight as Rook cannot repress a snort.

~~Of course, it opens to the last page that Vil had read.~~

The last page that he had used to poison _Neige_.

A dark thought seeds in his mind.

 _No._ He wills it away, gathering the book before leaving the room as if to escape his thoughts too. It hurts his pride as a hunter to be running away _but…_

He turns away from the mirror, knuckles white on the diadem he had come to retrieve.

~~_What did it matter anymore?_ ~~

Rook finds Epel in Vil’s room again, staring at his reflection.

Without the stern Dorm Leader, Rook half-expected Epel to stop following the rules of Pomefiore since it’s main enforcer was no longer present. Instead, he followed each and every one of them, silently and obediently.

It was _unnerving_.

“Rook?”

“Yes, Monsieur Crabapple?” He replies.

A small silence as Epel opens his mouth, only close it again. Deciding that he wouldn't say it, Epel resolves for staring, aqua gaze piercing and innocent. But Rook sees it. He sees what is underneath the red skin and supple flesh.

 _He should say something._ Rook thinks to himself in the silence. _Because he knows what Epel is up to. He knows that Epel has been staring at Vil’s book. He knows that Epel intends to finish it all. But yet — he can’t._

_~~Not when he sees Vil, free of ink, whispering in Epel’s ear in the mirror.~~ _

Neige dies. A poisoned apple juice that is Epel’s brand.

No one connects two and two.

Because Rook doesn't stop him.

~~Instead, he removes the labeling and hands it back to the poisoned apple.~~

Vil is the fairest of all. All of Night Raven College knew this.

 _So why._ Rook pleads to the diadem of his Roi du Poison, the only thing left along with his book — forever stained with ink. Just like how little Epel will be with poison that killed Neige. _Why didn’t you know it too, beautiful Vil?_

**_'Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.'_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The game is a fairytale in itself in that the students of NRC luckily do not suffer the consequences of Overblot, to which in this AU is the students are sealed in their magic pens by their Headmaster. Because mind, unlike the villains they are inspired by, the boys are still considered youths and are students.
> 
> Ngl, I teared up a bit when I wrote this. I am happy this ain't canon but at the same time, what if? you know?
> 
> And can we talk about how good they look when they Overblot, omfg. UGH.
> 
> Also, don't get used to fast updates. I just can't get this fandom out of my head.


	3. want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if the reincarnated Great Seven Overblotted earlier than canon?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Implied Child Abuse, Lack of Emotional Control, Bullying, Depression, Self-Hatred, Self-Inflicted Pressure, Isolation, Lack of Ethics, Power Hunger, Reincarnation, Exploration of Overblot, Minor Historical Details, Small Children, Dubious Consent (nothing sexual, don't worry), Poisons, Blood and Violence, Manipulation, Snakes, Character Death, Drowning.

**_‘a villain is only a villain because the hero refused to save them…’_ **

Once upon a time, there lived a boy, who could have been saved.

Just like all of the other little ones that could have been — ~~_Why didn't anyone save me? Why couldn't anyone hear me screaming in the silence? Why couldn't anyone stop them from hurting me? Why couldn't anyone protect me like all of the others? Why didn't anyone do anything?_~~ — and with the same answer to each one.

Day after day, he waited. Diligent and bright-eyed like all children, he wanted to be saved — like all of the ones in the stories. By waiting, he would be saved and be taken away from these ugly feelings — he would be _free_.

He was promised that much too. ~~_Wasn’t he?_~~

But no one came.

~~(Tears threaten to drip mercilessly on the parchment, perfect lines of handwriting unmarred because punishment was scarier than feeling anything. Mother was already displeased with him. He couldn't afford emotions.~~

~~Claws dig too deep into terse flesh, trying to will away the poisonous words of fear and degradation only to be lifted from the scalp with blood. No one notices. He was used to it. He lies to himself.~~

~~Black tendrils curl over the body, as if shielding himself from the world could block it out from existence. He is left behind in the coral and bubbles again. He is not surprised or disappointed. But still, he aches. He hates it so.~~

~~The figment of his hatred is blissful and unaware of it. He hates it. He hates it so much that he cannot help but tremble as he stands in his rooms, thinking about it. Yet, he misses every time. Every. Damned. Time.~~

~~Trying and persevering, anyone is beautiful in pursuit of something they are passionate for. Yet, he can't. He needs and needs — he tries, oh, he tries to be content. Play the roles that they have formatted for him. Even if it breaks him slowly.~~

~~Blue flames erupt with destructive promise, licking and all-consuming. It was all too much. The outside world was too much. But no one cares that he can't. Because everyone thinks he can. None of them know that he would much rather suffer.~~

~~Cold, intimidating and demon-like in appearance. Outside of his kin, none dare to approach. Manners and courtesy prevent him from voicing his woes. He does not look forward to them, he lies to himself. They cannot break something he had no expectation in the first place.)~~

No matter how many times he cried. No matter how many times he lied to himself. No matter how many times he held hope. No matter how many times he tries desperately. No matter how many times he convinces himself that he perfectly fine.

~~_No matter how many times, no one hears him._ ~~

The answer was the same.

Abandoned.

Betrayed.

Alone.

Tormented.

Trapped.

Misunderstood.

Uninvited.

In the end, he _stops_ waiting.

Innocent, doe-eyes sharpen instead, narrowed with distrust. Soft and whispered words become harsh and edged with venom. Lips release snarls and barbed smirks instead of soft smiles and effortless grins. Touch becomes unfamiliar and associated with hurt and tears become the closest thing to it. Isolation is safe and dependance is not given.

He doesn’t need to be saved.

He doesn’t _want_ it.

_~~Not anymore.~~ _

_~~(Mercurial eyes glare coldly at the tomes. There were rules to memorize. And later, be law by his command. And himself, the judge, jury and executioner.~~ _

_~~Sand spills with promises of a curse as a scarred eye pays the indiscriminate destruction no heed. He had no inclination to care. It wasn't his kingdom to inherit, after all.~~ _

_~~Polyps and small fry cower as he lures another soul, hypnotized by his delicious words. He knew what prey felt like, the ease that needed to be properly consumed by the predator. Never again.~~ _

_~~It is a place that no one (almost) everyone does not know them. He has a chance here. There are no direct repercussions, at least, not right away. He eyes his puppet, planning and cunning in the shadows.~~ _

_~~His surroundings, the people, the setting and the timing are all in his control. Everything is perfect. Because he made it so. He rejects offers of splendor that are not. Even others see it to be. He will make them all see why.~~_

_~~Pale hands that can create new worlds and inventions that can shake the balance are at his fingertips. He does not need the outside world. Nor any features of it. He has Ortho for that.~~ _

_~~Black thorns tangle overhead as he wanders in the darkness. If he is not invited, then he will go as he pleases. He does not want for an invitation. Not anymore.)~~ _

Instead, he drags all of them into hell with him.

~~_(And finds all the devils by his side.)_ ~~

* * *

It begins at his dorm in his second-year first.

A freshman, Ace Trappola ate one of his tarts to begin the drama as he 'offs' the younger's head — a light punishment, really — dragging in that disturbance that was housed at the Ramshackle Dorm. Trey nor Cater are present for the days before the Unbirthday, leaving Riddle to his own devices.

He does not know if Trey sees what he does. But there is something that is _off_ about that Prefect.

A normal mortal that had no magic of their own and was considered to be half a student. Ortho Shroud was the same with his older brother but at least, the younger counterpart was competent alone. And there was Grim. A talking pet on the grounds, unbound and allowed to trespass with unruly whines of being a student to be the best magician in the world.

 _Ah_. Riddle catches himself from cursing, the last time he allowed some seemingly weak mongrel pass through the halls of his Kingdom, she left with her head still on her shoulders. _And left his kingdom is disarray._

Trey and Cater excuse themselves — Riddle doesn't ask nor does he stop them, he knows where they are going.

Instead, in the dead of night, he makes his way to exit his dorm. 

Malleus is invited, contrary to popular belief, but need to keep up appearances.

They all knew the stories of their predecessor, the ones not entirely carved into stone. ~~_They lived through it, once upon a time._~~

The seven of them were not... _exactly_ respecting of their fellow villains but rather saw the logic of their respective counterpart. How could they not being on the same side — knowing just how _awful_ it may have been if they had lost — a stroke of luck, the intervention of the smallest player, the change of heart of one piece; they knew happily-ever-afters happened.

~~_It just didn't happen to them._ ~~

Reasonably confused, each of them adjusted quickly, initially amused to see their visages and likeness on pedestals when they had first manifested. But to say they were _entirely_ their former selves was not right neither.

It was more of an amalgamation of the two. True to the ownership of the body, most of Riddle Rosehearts was himself but there was a portion. A small portion of himself that was foreign in origin that came from the experiences of the Red Queen of Hearts, bright and angry.

~~_Just like all of the others._ ~~

Fireflies hover aglow outside the windows when he arrives to the empty classroom — the perks of being a Dorm Leader with the exception of Jamil, but with Kalim being so forgetful and carefree, Riddle doubts he would have noticed.

"Ah, the Red Young Master has arrived."

There is only one person that calls him that, leering from atop one of the desks. Leona Kingscholar smirks arrogantly down at him, toxic green eyes aglow in the darkness as he lounges comfortably.

"You're late." A rough voice admonishes, as if not used very often.

Idia Shroud's tablet floats over. It seems he was the last to arrive.

"Rule No. 742 of the Queen of Hearts: The Queen is never late, it is others that should be on time in serving." He replies automatically, before internally grimacing. While it was true the rules of Heartslabyul are respected between the dorms, the general agreement was that it did not apply to all dorms. His temper was shortening.

"You are not the only Queen present, Rosehearts." Smooth and velvety but tinged with venomous distain. Vil Schoenheit sneers on his own desk, posture straight and without a hair out of place.

"And since when does your rules apply to us?" A rich cuts in, ruthless. Jamil Viper, who hovers closest to him — as if to watch the doors for any unwanted company. "We are not even members of your dorm."

"Now, now." The smooth voice of Azul Ashengrotto hums out, silvery tongue in action. "We are getting off track, everyone. I am sure, Riddle-san, has spent so much time disciplining the new blood of his dorm that the response was mere reflex. No need for us to get at each other's necks when we have other plans this night."

And like that, the tension is broken.

"Then?" The Savanaclaw lion prompts. "Get on with this meeting, octopunk, what the hell is so important that I had to wake up for?"

Azul lifts his hands placidly by Idia's tablet. "How rude. But unfortunately, it was not I that summoned this meeting."

"It was me." Riddle cuts in and before anyone can protest how he was late to his own meeting, he continues. "The Prefect at Ramshackle Dorm. That is why we are here."

"Oh?" Malleus contributes for the first time, turning away from the window, baritone deep and dark. "There is a student who lives in Ramshackle Dorm?"

Everyone looks at the heir and prince for a moment before blinking.

 _Right_.

Malleus wasn't at the entrance ceremony.

Taking a moment to explain, the fae still does not look overly concerned just like Vil, Leona, and Idia. But with a glance to Azul and Jamil, he knows they see a bit more like he does.

"The last time I let some mortal waltz into my kingdom, she threw everything in Wonderland out of place." Riddle retorts, as he brings his hand up in a beheading gesture. "I have no intention to witness the same occurrence."

"The same?" Vil inquires as he explains — Ace eating his tart, how he ran straight to Ramshackle, worked with Trey and Cater to win back his favor, only to backfire.

"Like I said, what does this have to do with us?" Leona yawns as Idia seconds this indifference with a mention of a newly released game he had to attend to instead.

~~_Priorities._ ~~

"What if I were to say that there is an alternative consequence to the presence of this mortal?" Azul proposes, raising his glasses as he continues. "I am sure you gentlemen know that I will not divulge as to my methods, but this much is true. Headmaster Crowley has admitted a non-magical student to Night Raven College with a monster in hopes that we can learn how to work together."

Incredulous looks are exchanged between the other five along with an undignified squeak from the tablet.

Never before in Night Raven College's history was the seven dorms even in tandem to even agree on anything without motive and secondary ambition. And the Headmaster believed this mortal could do it?

 _Impossible_.

But no one doubted the information.

It was Azul Ashengrotto's business to know such things, to manipulate others into signing something they shouldn't, preying on the universal emotion of desire. But to offer up all of it without an explicit price, _something_ was up.

"Ironic, seeing all of us here." Jamil chuckles darkly, golden jewelry glinting in the moonlight. "I am afraid that the Headmaster may not know what he wants, if that is truly is his goal."

"Indeed." Vil scowls, marring his beautiful features as he raises two fingers. "No offense, but the only time the students of Night Raven College are in agreement are when the factors are mutually beneficial or in our shared hatred of Royal Sword Academy — I do not see how the Headmaster would think that this character would be capable enough to pull off this task."

Automatic expressions of negativity are revealed at the mention of their rival school.

Not only a school of rivalry, but also where their counterparts attended happily. _How utterly revolting._

"So, what do we do?" Idia addresses, his voice more motivated than usual, making the rest of them glance at the tablet "If the Headmaster gets this achievement through this NPC, we are going to be _interacting_ with one another. And that means I have to get out of my room. This not acceptable terms and conditions. I reject this gameplay in guise of social interaction."

Truly leave it to Idia to be motivated by his hatred for going _outside_ of all things.

"What a bother." Leona snarls, thoroughly annoyed. "You asses called me out for just this? I'm leaving. Do what you wish with the herbivore."

"Are you sure?" Azul hums at the podium, expression placid but blue eyes all-knowing. "Savanaclaw may not be directly impacted immediately, seeing how Heartslabyul is the first. But you would be naive to believe that it would stop there. Will you be able to accept the insult that interference from a non-magical and his pet bested the second coming of the King of Beasts, Prince Leona?"

Silence permeates as they watch as Leona's hackles are raised with every word.

Riddle sees the shouting before he hears it as he opens his mouth to intervene.

"Why?" Malleus beats him to it, his own green eyes curious as black lips smile at the chaos. "Why are you so invested in this, Ashengrotto? To provoke the lion to this extent?"

The others eye the Sea Witch.

The reincarnation of Ursula has the audacity to be falsely offended but complies. "How distrusting you all are of me. You _wound_ me. But it is true and as you expect, I too like Idia have a motive for this. And it is simple."

The Dorm Leader of Octavinelle holds up his cane.

At the center is a white gem, the core of their magical abilities and pens — with a feature that was exclusive to the members of this room. That it contained a core of ink, allowing them to undertake their Overblot forms with some level of control.

"It appears we had been found out. And I have no intention of being stripped of any of my power."

~~_Even if it was a deal with the devil._ ~~

* * *

It is a contract they all shared.

For when a magician normally Overblots, the ink has normally accumulated over a very short amount of time of reckless use of magic — a moment of hasty decisions and unstable emotional control; and the ink blots would be removed after the ordeal. But this version appeared to be exclusive to the seven of them, having slowly burned and pooled over the years, stemming from their negative emotions — for, in a way, it is like they never stopped Overblotting.

Not after the first. _Not after meeting the Great Seven within them._

But not all of them possessed magical pens to know how much they gathered. And normally, when overwhelmed, magicians would feel the exhaustion and natural response to rest after trying spells. There was never the implication of normalcy amongst them.

The first time Riddle Overblots, he is alone in his room.

His crystalline tears blackened, formerly healthy flush of skin now a pale visage of heavy metal poisoning, hands forever stained with ebony blood, and his right eye burning with from the lace branding of his predecessor — but the youthful boy did not know what Overblot was. All he knows is that after he is forbidden from seeing Trey and Che'nya, _~~It's all their fault.~~_ his mother will never let him leave ever again.

He will have to study more. Listen to her lecture him for longer than ever. Practice his Unique Magic and spells until he cannot stand. Eat balanced meals and nothing he wants. Alone and moving to his mother's wishes.

~~_Mother wants what is best for you._ ~~

_Then why can't you see I want to play outside with ~~my friends~~ Trey and Che'nya? Why can't you see that you are suffocating me in here? Why don't let me eat strawberry tarts like everyone else? Why can't you let me be happy? Why is it me who is alone? _

_Not technically, little Riddle._

The small head of red rises to see a figure that looked like someone anyone from the Rose Kingdom would recognize from textbooks. The Founder, herself, the Red Queen of Hearts. Only instead of a head with a small toothless smile, it bore a heart-shaped ornament, the glass cracked and dripping oily ink. If it was not the topped with a golden crown and carvings of roses and hearts on the head, the patchwork of ragged, stained fabrics of the Queen's dress would have sealed the conclusion. Not to mention the grip of painted roses.

Riddle stares, eyes wide and unaware of the small miasma from his right one.

"Who are you?" He whispers.

The Second Prince of Afterglow voices the same, his fresh scar suddenly healed as orange smoke billows from the green eye, undamaged from the wound. He was under the piles of bones in the Elephant Graveyard, for no one came there — no one could hear him cry, scream and yell there — it was not like they could when he tried anyway. Everyone was too busy looking at Farena to see him.

Then Cheka was born.

Any chance he had of being acknowledged, or being worth anything, it was gone. Too frustrated to see anyone, he escapes and runs until he can't anymore. He attacks anything and everything in his path when they say anything because he knows nothing they say will help him. They will praise him, then see his brother and he would be left the afterthought — or better yet, nonexistent.

Sometimes, he thinks, he wishes for it. _To truly not be._ Maybe then, he wouldn't have known Farena. ~~He wouldn't have to know Cheka and see the future he could have had if he wasn't born second.~~

Then a voice answers him, manifesting as the King of Beasts.

The ornamented lion chuckles in his mind, dripping ink in the field of sand of Leona's handiwork. _I am the King of Beasts as you so believe, cub. I am what answered you when you were drowning in your despair. I am what manifested from your actions today. You Overblotted._

Leona stares at his inked paws, toxic green eyes calculative. "What is Overblot?"

Azul hums over the explanation, gaze fixated on the ink surrounding his form as same flows down his left cheek. He had sealed himself back into the crevices of an abandoned whale fall, the bones and black coral of his making hiding him away from the cruel barbs of the world. He hadn't yet perfected his Unique Magic, and had gotten frustrated when other merfolk had found him studying from the collections of the Sea Witch.

The very same woman before him, her smiling visage replaced by an ornament shaped in the form of nautilus. Azul eyes the black spiral, one of the remaining relics of the times of old and natural perfection. A reminder of what he wants.

"I could die if I say in this form, overuse extending my body." Azul waves a hand of ink in the already brackish waters, he can taste the blood in the water. And it is as intoxicating as the magic that thrums at his fingertips. "Such a pity."

The trident in the Sea Witch's hands shifts and one of her tentacles waves in a soothing gesture. _My dear, sweet child, you are here because of your own anguish. But as kind as I am, allow me to give a suggestion. Ask yourself. What do you want?_

He doesn't want to be alone. He wants those who said that he couldn't swim as fast as the others to suffer. He wants the ones who made fun of him and teased him for all the faults that were beyond his hands to writhe in agony for what they did to him. He doesn't want to be the fat, weak and vulnerable octopus no longer.

All of it could have been summed in one sentence, really. Lace shadows over his eyes as he replies with a little mad grin. "I want a contract."

Jamil does not trust the being that he summons, it _wants_ something from him — something only he can give it. His outlined eyes trace over the turban crown the stitched up genie, glass fractured. He does not know if it is a reflection of his current state but he suspects he is not too far off, now knowing what this Overblot is.

The frustrating thing is that it was not even a large matter to be so anguished over. It was something that happened often enough. But after being beaten by Kalim once again for the nth time, he snapped. He had seen at least twenty ways for him to beat the master in the childhood game of holes and marbles and yet — still, he is the one that needs to forfeit. To intentionally lose because of the incompetency of his master.

It is how he ends up here, in the outskirts of the city, alone.

 _It is the fault of your master, boy. If he wasn't born, if he didn't exist, maybe... you wouldn't be in this place._

The servant pauses at the words.

He... He cannot be mad at Kalim. But at the same time, it was Kalim's fault, albeit partially. If he were more competent and himself more incompetent, perhaps, they could have been best friends and servant-master as well. But he knows better than anyone that cannot be. He has no time for what-ifs. ~~But that does not stop him from wondering.~~ Kalim, even as naive as he is, cannot be that forgiving. No matter how many times he insists they are friends.

They are master and servant. _Until the death._

Jamil pets one of the snakes that curl over his little hands, the tongue flicking in the night air. "What are your conditions?"

Vil stares into the mirror, hands cradling his pale reflection on the cracked surface. The reflection that he has worked so hard for, enhancing his gifted genetics and preserving it — yet unlike his normal reflection, everything in this one screams the poison he hides within. He does not want to be the mean character because he looks like it, he does not want to be the one who torments others because he looks like he would — _he does not need that._

He wants to be that because he _can_. Because he was acknowledged for his work towards it.

He wants to be commended for his hard work. Not admired because it seemed to come so naturally to him. That is why when his father informs him once again, he was given the script of the villain, he locks himself in his room and begins to brew poisons. He is surrounded by them when he realizes he is no longer alone.

 _You will give a piece of yourself to me, child._ The hag answers when he asks her what she wants. _And in exchange, I will allow you to access to my power. The magic you feel in your being, the flow of poisons in your enemies — and their lives in your hands. And as a token of my power..._

The hag holds out a gnarled hand to reveal a crown, braided gold with a heart punctured by a dagger.

Vil cradles it in his too small hands. "Is...is this for me?"

Idia cradles the small skull, golden eyes wide as he hides in the darkness of his room. Lit with blue flames of his hair, he uncomfortably shifts in his room, surrounded by computer screens. Where it is safe. Where no one can judge him. Where he does not have to know social cues and be deemed a _noob_ for his stuttering.

"You... You'll never leave?" He asks, timid but unafraid.

_I'm kinda attached to you literally, kid. I can't even if I wanted to. I'm in you._

Malleus answers, his black lips echoed by six others as they give up a part of themselves. "I accept this contract, Maleficent."

* * *

When the Prefect of Ramshackle is found dead in their room, no one notices the poison in their veins.

~~(Angry snarls echo as the lion crushes the cat at the spine, claws digging into the soft flesh with ease, it's screams and wailings inaudible after his voice is removed by the octopus, who merely needed the paw print for his contract.~~

~~"Don't break him. We have plans for this scene."~~

~~The ghosts are incorporeal and have no place of interference here. The lord of the dead's mere presence makes sure of that, as he lurks in the doorway to watch for any unwanted company. Leaving the sorcerer and queen of poisons to the mortal, one cooing to a snake in his hair and the other with a vial of his poisons.~~

~~_"Just one bite."_ ~~

~~They are dead before they awaken.)~~

Because everyone is too fixated at the destruction caused by Grim.

~~(Grim can't breathe. He was going to be the best magician! He was finally going to Night Raven College as a student. He can't just _die_ here. ~~

~~But the ink does not stop. It won't stop. — _"Swallow, little potato-kitty."_ — Who is that?~~

~~It surrounds him. Drowning him from the inside as it is stuffed into his mouth, unrelenting and thick with pain.~~

~~_"Almost there. It will not be long before he loses all sense of being. Only a lust for the ink to satisfy his hunger."_ ~~

~~The last thing he sees is black ink.)~~

The blood on the walls, the carnage of the room, the open-mouth scream of pain that had hardened in the rigor mortis — only a beast and monster could have done this.

~~(The other five watch as the witch of the sea and the witch of thorns command the mutated beast in their bloody dance — tearing into the newly dead flesh and sinew with vigor and brutalizing force.~~

~~They are no humans, after all.~~

~~The lion wasn't neither. He was a natural-born carnivore.~~

~~And the other three that were, well, they hadn't been fully human for a long time now.)~~

The Headmaster covers up the entire thing. No one questions him for his gracious decision.

(Crowley sighs into his talons as he clambers back to his office, shuddering at the sight of the Prefect.

But why Ramshackle Dorm when the richer branches of the school were there? Certainly his other students were safe behind the mirrors, but why _that_ abandoned building? No one, outside of the mortal, had stepped into the building in ages. 

"Good morning, Headmaster."

Crowley's head raises at the voice to meet seven pairs of eyes, before their respective Great Seven — six Dorm Leaders and one Vice. And with his raised gaze, he knows.

He sees the golden necklace of the Sea Witch in black gloves, the imperial crown of the Red Queen nestled on rose red hair, the white skull of the Lord of the Dead in pale hands, the diadem of the Beautiful Queen on porcelain skin, the red jewel of the Sorcerer of Sand clasped in a magical pen and finally, the horns of the Witch of Thorns — and how they drip of ink.

And knows that his students are not entirely themselves. _Not anymore._

~~_Quietly, Dire Crowley mourns the students they could have been.)_ ~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU is basically when the bois are their most vulnerable, they Overblotted as kids instead of when they were in their teens and basically signed away a part of themselves to their respective Seven. I made it be dubious consent, because they are kids, they are not fully developed to make decisions yet.
> 
> Idia and Malleus' part in this is less than the others since their main stories have not come out yet but I tried to work them in best I could. And for this prompt, I basically took the concept of Grim eating the black stones and going with it — because Grim lowkey annoys the shit out of me when he does stupid things. Like Deuce and Ace are boy-stupid, it's cute. But Grim... Mind, I do enjoy his company as the story goes on.
> 
> Overblot is not exactly v clear outside of the causes, but it is vague enough that I can play around a little with the concept. As you can tell this one takes place before canon gameplay, and eventually goes into Chapter 1 only. Hope you guys like it~


	4. less traveled by

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reincarnated Great Seven awaken in the bodies of their respective princess. And collectively proceed to wreck every fairy tale. Without even trying.
> 
> Takes place after Chapter 5. Ghost Marriage References.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Transmigration, Liberal Use of Pronouns, Mental Shock, Strong Language, Merfolk / Anthropomorphic Cultural Differences, Blood and Violence, So Many Marriage Proposals (And Rejections), Brief Kisses, Emotional Manipulation, Manipulation, Exile, Stabbing, Implied Death / Murder, Implied Cannibalism, Bashing of Canon Disney Fairy Tales, Poison.

**_‘two roads diverged in a wood, and I took the one less traveled by and that makes all the difference.’_ **

It is a magical accident — which is expected to be rather common for an institution of magic with young students, a part of the learning process and the system. Therefore, when almost all of the Dorm Leaders and one Vice Dorm Leader are sucked into one of the coffins in the Hall of Mirrors, it is fair to say that the ~~gracious~~ Headmaster Crowley is v _distressed_.

Because he has seven students, gone.

Poof.

~~Down the rabbit hole.~~

_This cannot get any worse._ Crowley bemoans in his golden, taloned hands — unable to pry open the coffin, which turned a deep blue contrary to the usual luminescent green. Blue meant that the coffin was occupied, for the lack of a better term, that an individual was traveling to or from the destination. It was impossible to open, not until the ones on the other side arrived or came back.

Crowley eyed the coffin, recognizing it before groaning into his hands.

_Where, in the name of the Great Seven, did this one take his ~~troubl—~~ lovely students?!_

As if on cue from the universe, Crewel arrives with the rest of the Vice Dorm Leaders and significant students of Night Raven College with the staff in front, alarmed at the turn of events. From their expressions, they were informed of the situation.

“I never knew that the coffins could just suck you in, Headmaster.” Jack comments, eyeing the other coffins with a hint of wariness. “Does this happen often?”

“I have never heard of this particular phenomenon occurring in our time here.” Rook hums, as the other third years feed their agreement.

“This phenomenon has happened before, but it has not been heard of since the times of the Great Seven.” Trein explains, petting Lucius idly. “As you all know the coffins serve as portals to your respective homes for each dorm, but have any of you noticed that there is one more coffin than there are dorms?”

Jade hums, nodding. “Now that you mention it, Trein-sensei is correct. There are only seven dorms — eight, if you count Ramshackle Dorm. Is that the anomaly in question here?”

“And going by the logic presented here,” Lilia murmurs, with a visibly distressed Zigvolt and Silver by his sides. “It would appear that Malleus and the others were taken to the place that those who used to live Ramshackle Dorm.”

“Then all we have to do is just find out who used to live in Ramshackle Dorm and then, go there to get our Dorm Leaders back.” Ace sums up with a lifted hand and shrug.

“And Jamil!” Kalim pipes up. “I’m sure that if we let them know our situation during a party, they will understand and let us find them to bring them back!”

“It is not so simple, Mr. Al-Asim.” Crowley growls from his place at the coffin. “This particular coffin has not been opened in centuries like Mr. Trein has stated. The original inhabitants of Ramshackle Dorm have long since been dead. Even we do not know where the seven of them could be.”

“That would make sense,” Cater hums. “Seeing how dilapidated the place is, infested with ghosts.”

“So, how do we get Nii-san and the others back, Headmaster?” Ortho asks, yellow eyes wide. “The seven of them can be in danger!”

Crewel grimaces. There was nothing to be done, at least, on this side. Not if they wanted their students to be presented in bits within the coffin via the Night Carriage to wherever they were going.

But before any of the teachers or Headmaster can say this, Epel’s ~~v masculine~~ voice breaks out.

“The Mirror of Darkness…is that… _a female Neige?!”_

Vil is the first to awaken.

The familiar feel of satin on his back and the musky scent of sterility tells him where he is as he opens his eyes to darkness — _what happened…?_

The Dorm Leader of Pomefiore freezes, recalling what happened to lead him here. Shoved between Leona and Malleus with an annoyed frown, before he could voice his protests, the three of them along with a flailing Azul, a panicked Idia ~~(honestly what was that posture?)~~ , the less-than-usual-graceful Jamil and finally, a squawking Riddle — all somehow fit into one of the coffins in the Hall of Mirrors, before being taken together, somewhere. But they must have separated sometime afterwards.

Perfectly sure that he was alone, after all, one of them would have protested by now if they were sharing the same space — it was now time to assess where the hell the coffin had taken him.

Lifting the lid, he blinks and lifts a hand as sunlight attacks his eyelids.

Gaze widening, he finds himself in the middle of a clearing with seven, sobbing dwarves at his feet.

_What._

But the second coming of the Beautiful Queen was not paying any attention on such trivialities. Instead, he was fixated on his shoes, fitted into soft yellow, bowed heels — _was that just five centimeters…_ — that clashed with his yellow skirt that he wanted to… _wait_ … _yellow skirt?_

Unhearing of the happy tearing of the dwarves, Vil moves faster than he ever has, pulling out a handheld mirror from the inner folds of the coffin.

Staring back at him is lips of red, short hair as dark as ebony and skin as pale as his shock. Looking down, Vil feels almost revolted. Red and blue puffy sleeves cover delicate shoulders with a darker corset decorated with his magic pen at his hips before blossoming into yellow, lighter than his shoes — and as if complete it all, his hair nestles a bowed red ribbon.

His… _His face_ … it looked like… _like..._

“Snow White?”

Vil’s fragile patience _breaks_.

More than one person on the other side of the mirror winced at the tongue lashing delivered to the poor man that approached the livid female Neige (who was apparently named ‘Snow White’?) that emerged from the familiar dark coffin.

 _“That_ … sounds like Vil-senpai.” Jack grimaces.

“At least we know they're safe?” Ruggie offers as protests from certain individuals echo that only one of the missing seven were shown.

And as if in response, the image in the mirror ripples once more.

Malleus sits up from his coffin, idling thinking about how redundant it is to have a coffin on a bed — throwing aside a red rose that was on his chest (may be a leftover from one of the Heartslabyul students?) when he recalls how he got here.

 _Ah._ Then maybe not.

Climbing out of the poster bed, he finds the — clearly female — room bare outside of an open archway — he was in a castle similar to his dorm. His gaze fixes on a small vanity, approaching before stopping, frozen at his reflection.

Lush golden locks replace his ebony hair as baby-blue eyes stare back at him, going from the ruby-encrusted tiara with his magic gem at the center to the blue gown over his slim form — his horns are gone along with his biological gender. He was a woman, a child of man, and an important one at that. A princess. He knew status when he saw it, seeing how he was one himself.

_“Princess Aurora?!”_

Malleus does not turn for that is not his name. He is Malleus Draconia, heir to the Valley of Thorns.

He does not answer to _Princess._

Instead, he wills his magic to appear, relieved that it is still there, blue eyes growing a poisonous green as a hand removes the tiara and his gem, kicking off the white heels — to look for some kind dye for his hair at the vanity as the fae behind him flies out, hysterical to get her sisters.

As if he was going to walk around looking like Schoenheit. _Ridiculous._

_“YOUNG MASTER!”_

_A small crab is in his room._ Azul observes, looking down at his now female body.

He has hair the same coloration of the crab just past his butt, pale shoal skin and sea green eyes of the ocean, lips just a bright as his hair — all dressed in a pink nightdress, ruffled at the neck and the sleeves. Ignoring the ranting of the crab in Mermish and calling him ‘Ariel’ for some reason, he walks over to the window, noting how it was morning before surveying his situation in brief.

From the rambling from the crab, this ‘Ariel’ has no voice, one of the conditions to a contract that this girl — _princess_ — made for legs (How ridiculous. The potion for legs is almost _horrendously_ easy to brew. What a _stupid_ girl.) and if she received true love’s kiss from this Eric character, then she would keep her legs but fail, she would belong to the Sea Witch.

Azul holds back a scoff.

_He knows this story._

Walking to the closet, eyes narrowed, the sea princess immediately removes the clothing as if it personally offends him, ignoring the squawking from the crab.

Azul does not hold back a sneer.

_Please, merfolk were much more worse than this. They all swam around practically naked anyway._

He had other things to worry about than conserving the chastity of this body. As if the second coming of the Sea Witch would just let his predecessor out-contract _him_.

_“Look away!”_

Crowley and Trein orders as all of them advert their eyes when the red-headed girl the twins realized was Azul, when she looked just like Prince Rielle, had begun to strip off her nightdress. _With nothing under._

“Merfolk.” Lilia hums amusedly.

Blushes prevalent, only Jade and Floyd remained unfazed with Lilia.

“Such modesty among surface dwellers.” Jade comments as Floyd makes a noise of agreement.

“Honestly~ _Ehhhh~_ Azul looks a bit more familiar now~”

Eyes turn back to the mirror to see that the young octopus… errr, girl? … had wasted no time — her red hair is left loose, her dress a deep purple strapless, corset with a black skirt torn to mid-thigh and clipped to her bosom, a familiar diamond-like gem. 

And most importantly, the blubbering crab in hand, she steps out of the room in heels with a feral smile. With the octopus’ exit, the mirror ripples once more.

Morphing into an image of rather familiar of the early days of Heartslabyul, when Riddle had just assumed Dorm Leader status, only the one on the throne was clearly not a red-headed boy. Instead, it is a young lady with blonde hair, yellower than Rook’s — crowned with a golden crown under a black ribbon, dress colored a bright red with black hearts as she sneers over a platoon of what looked like to be Card Men, bound at the heads.

They had seen _that_ magic before.

“Dorm Leader!”

“Riddle!”

Heartslabyul cry out together.

Riddle Rosehearts has one objective — to return to Twisted Wonderland. He has a dorm to run and a tart cake to consume this afternoon with his tea, made by Trey and served by Deuce. According to the rules of the Red Queen, he has a schedule to keep and no detour was going to get in the way of it — not even with these insubordinate Cards.

His appearance and body may have changed but that was no exception.

Found himself in an empty room with an Eat Me! Cake — _Upelkuchens_. Riddle blinks. — and a Drink Me Bottle with his coffin, he emerges in a land that had similar nations to the Rose Kingdom — called _Wonderland_.

The magic-wielding young man frowns, curious.

He is placed at trial and face-to-face to his antecedent — like her statue, she is the spitting image. And that is all that is similar to her.

For the way she spittles accusations at him and blames him for things he did not do — even though, he has no idea if the original of this body was or not — but from the faces of the March Hare, Dormouse, Mad Hatter and that cat that looks disturbingly similar to Che’nya ~~(Not the time.)~~ — it’s really not — Riddle feels his blood pressure rise.

“Not to mention, you are _so small—“_

_One of the Great Seven, be damned. What the fuck did she say about his height._

To the happiness of the sole Dorm Leader left, Kalim is enthusiastic when sand dunes grace the reflection, knowing that the setting could be where his best friend was.

Only to startle at the image of a young woman in red crop top and with puffy pants of harem women of the Hot Sands, exposing her dark skin as the golden jewelry reflect the candlelight. Crowned with a sheer black veil under a crown, Kalim blinks at the sight as the Headmaster and Trein-sensei screech about proper clothing.

“It’s Jamil!”

 _No shit._ All of the others’ thought as they try to avoid staring at the woman’s curves.

Or the fact that she was currently smirking with coy sadism, a lamp clipped to her belt as she orders her tiger to attack an unseen man, dressed in red and black, cradling a broken scepter similar to Kalim’s own.

“Jamil looks like he’s having a great time!”

~~Collectively, the students wonder just how Kalim got in Night Raven College.~~

The manservant of Kalim Al-Asim was not in his room, for his chambers were not this luxurious nor ever containing of female clothing except when he and little sister shared the same room when they were young. Luckily, his experience allowed him to dress in a new ensemble more practical than those precious silk turquoise garments — red and black to avoid eyes being drawn to unwanted attention and the familiar weight of gold on his body.

He was a lady of high standing, a Sultan’s daughter, he finds out when this ‘Prince Ali’ proclaims their intentions to marry.

(Jamil’s eyebrow twitches. He did not have time for marriage. He had a serfdom to get out of. _What was this nonsense._ ) But says nothing as his to-be-beloved is dragged away by Jafar’s guards.

~~(He is not that distressed about it.)~~

Jamil retains his poker face at the face of one of the Great Seven as he spies the sorcerer hypnotizing his father (?) to have his hand in marriage now that Prince Ali is out of the picture.

_(Ew.)_

This Prince Ali was apparently a peasant in disguise. _And that would make that lamp…_

Rajah, his pet tiger, purrs as he ponders his tentative plan, a smirk growing on his lips — uncharacteristic of the picky princess of Agrabah.

~~_Who needed marriage?_ ~~

The sight of most of their Dorm Leaders and one Vice Dorm Leader relatively safe, the mood in the Hall of Mirrors lifted considerably as it ripples once more. This time, displaying a savannah over a vast land — overlooked by a large congregation of stone. Jack and Ruggie perk up seeing their homeland and hoping to see it’s second prince.

Instead, they see a young lion with an orange mane of hair cower beside…. _Was that a pig and a meerkat?_

Eyes frightfully wide at a snarling lioness.

To the surprise of others present, Jack and Ruggie immediately shiver in sympathy and utter one word with soaked fear.

_“Females.”_

_He did not consent to this bullshit._ Leona growls involuntarily as he stares at his reflection in the water.

He is a female lioness with soft yet regal features, eyes a rare blue as golden locks spill down his back, crowned by darker lioness’ ears. His breasts are contained in a tight orange corset before unfurling into a dark yellow skirt that is silt at his left side for mobility, golden anklets and a clawed necklace at his neck to hold his magic pen’s gem.

What the fuck. (Thank Seven, he still had his pen but _what the fuck.)_

The jewelry meant he was clearly somehow royalty — the to-be Queen, most likely — noting he was barefoot and de-gloved, claws out.

“Fuck.” He curses out loud, rubbing his eyes. _“This cannot get any worse.”_

Three minutes later, when he fucks off to some random oasis in the savannah after being ordered by the king, who is the King of Beasts of all people in his beast form, to hunt for the pride (Like _he_ knows how to fucking hunt. He’s a lion of the savannah and a prince. _Who the fuck._ ) Leona bites his tongue, he does not have enough information —he has nearly gotten the fat pig in his claws when he stops at the sound of a roar.

 _He is wrong. It could get worse._ He thinks numbingly as an older version of what looked like his nephew crawls out of the foliage, looking at him with hope-filled eyes and adoration.

He's seen those eyes. It was the same ones that Farena had for his sister-in-law.

“Nala?”

“ _Fuck no.”_

"Nii-san!" Ortho cries out as the mirror shifts for the last time, displaying a woman who has locked herself in a Grecian-Roman temple, ignoring the shouting and large bangs from the other side without a care.

Instead, the woman was staring at her own reflection, yelling at how she did not consent to being transmigrated into a historical fiction RPG. While bemoaning on how her newest manga character figurine was to be released in three hours and her reputation of being a true otaku was about to be ruined because of a stupid _coffin_ of all things.

Without a doubt in anyone's mind, it was Idia with his priorities straight.

Idia is dead.

Metaphorically. ( _Again._ He has already has phasmaphobia from the last arc. Why didn't these dead people read the memo.)

But instead of seeing the ceiling of his dorm room, he wakens to see a concerned face looking down at him. It is an ikemen, chiseled with statuesque level that has MAX on godly features along with the 100/100 of love and adoration in those blue eyes. It was too bright. Too much for the sheltered and introverted him. Both literally and every which other way.

So, Idia does the obvious thing.

He pulls the secret technique that has worked for men more muscular than him ~~(in theory).~~

He lifts his skirt — _skirt?_ — and gets the fuck away, while screaming.

Like _hell_ is he going to be married off again.

* * *

Vil stares at the stupid man before him, now that the midget potatoes that reminded him too much of Neige's little entourage have left. He may have accepted his defeat via Rook but it did not mean he still wasn't bitter about it. Overblot or not, homicidal tendencies were not encouraged to be _suppressed_ in Night Raven College. 

"You want to what."

"Marry."

Queens above, this moron just said that his corpse was beautiful and was going to kiss him (Boundaries and consent were clearly not taught to this potato.) when he was asleep _dead_. Now he was _proposing_ to him.

"Come to my castle."

The reincarnation of the Beautiful Queen reaches the end of his patience again.

Grabbing the man's face, he digs his nails into the terse flesh. At least this version of Neige kept a somewhat cuticle care, he notes as he sees the prince wince.

Brown eyes icy, he glares with venomous intent. "Listen here, you self-entitled _potato_. You may be an entitled prince in your kingdom and are used to every person going with your every whim, stranger or not. I am not that. I am a... _princess_ in my own birthright, I make my decisions for me and myself alone. Not you. My silence is not consent for you to take me away into your version of a marriage — I am not even legal for Seven's sake. You must earn me before you can have me. Are we of understanding, self-entitled potato?"

Eyes wide as Vil finishes his scolding, the prince watches in awe as the princess removes her hair ribbon and replaces it with a purple gemmed clip at her hip.

Looking down at herself, she grimaces, kicking off her heels.

After commandeering his horse, she looks down at him, still frozen at the base of the coffin. Rolling her eyes, she huffs. "This is _mine_ now. Close your mouth, potato. If you have nothing to say, don't bother opening it."

And then she rides off.

_~~His heart with it.~~ _

Prince Phillip sees Aurora before he can save her.

Because she refuses to come down as it appears that the entire kingdom that was asleep, was not anymore. Therefore, Princess Aurora must have awakened. Not even with the prompting of her father and mother does she come down. Confused, the three fae send Philip, though Merryweather looks visibly concerned.

"Princess Aurora?"

No answer.

The prince pauses, before deciding to enter after announcing his entrance. Immediately, before he can fully open the door, a hairbrush nearly brains him if he had not ducked. Then the voice of his beloved rings out, colder than he had ever heard it.

"I informed all of the others that I was not to be disturbed. Are you simply just hard of hearing?"

Bewildered, he manages to stutter out some kind of apology. Because he is too distracted by the princess in the reflection.

Her hair no longer looked like spun gold, but rather spools of black as dark make-up lines her baby-blue eyes, lips a pale purple. Her commoner's garb was no longer fitted on her, but replaced by a black dress of lace and patterned thorns, cut severely above the knee to reveal thigh-high boots as a bright light-green gem glows at her bodice.

She sighs with silent grace, standing from her vanity table. "No matter. I have no intention of staying."

That statement jars him from his silence. "Wait, _what?"_

She raises a dark brow as if to say that she did not have to explain herself to him.

"I... I _love_ you, Aurora. I slayed Maleficent for you. You do not have the burden of the curse nor need to fear the Witch of Thorns ever again."

"Yes, quite." She replies blandly. "Were you expecting me to leap into your arms in blissful glee for your victory?"

He stares at her, stunned.

Malleus does not understand the insistence of all of these humans. He is clearly not this _Aurora_ they keep calling and he is needs to leave. Sebek and Silver are very concerned for his safety along with Lilia, he has meetings to keep as Tsunataro, and dorm meetings to be uninvited to — he has no time to be galvanizing with princes and whatnot.

"What abysmal manners." The princess reproaches. Now he sounds like Schoenheit. Ugh, he never being blonde ever again. "To intrude uninvited, truly heroic, _Prince_ Philip."

Philip does not notice that the fireflies disappear with his princess.

Azul silently eyes the apparent love of his life, thoughts hidden behind an innocent smile. _What a bore._

Resigning himself to his fate, he reaches for the man when they are deeper inland (Prince Rielle would not be so bold with his lover, not if he was pursuing her sincerely. And he suspects this girl to similar, ~~how needy and innocent.~~ It nearly makes him sick. But that predictability works in his favor as the Sea Witch would not expect that enough for her to come to land to interfere just yet.), locking his lips on the other's.

Azul keeps his lips on the man — Eric, was it? — until he feels the magic of the contract be freed.

Which is less than the equivalent of three seconds.

Pushing his face off like the affair was a mere business transaction, the sea princess ignores the dazed Eric, before taking the reins of the carriage himself.

"Now then," Azul begins, turning to the crab. "You, get my father and inform him of everything."

"Ariel! You have your voice back!"

"Yes, an astute observation, Sebastian. My father, if you will." Azul replies sweetly.

Turning away from the pleased expression on the crustacean the moment he leaves, the princess smiles to at the confused look on the human. ~~The dullness of regular mortals.~~ "Thank you, Prince Eric. With your kiss, the curse of losing my voice has been lifted and I can finally pursue my dreams above in the surface world. It is my pleasure to meet you, Prince Eric, I am Ariel, Princess of Atlantica, the home of mermaids and the sea."

Eric stares at her. _"You're a mermaid?!"_

Azul ignores the annoyance at being called such a happy and naive species and smiles at Eric's gobsmacked expression "Yes. But I am currently human due to a curse that was inflicted on me by the Sea Witch."

It was not entirely a lie, seeing how the girl was clearly taken advantage of.

"A Sea Witch?"

 _Seven above, you are rather slow in the uptake._ The octopus in disguise snaps internally as Azul indulges in his ~~not-actually~~ -beloved of some of the finer details as they finally arrive at the castle. Azul glances at the surface in the corner of his eyes, heterochromic eyes blink at him before leaving.

_Jade and Floyd._

Shifting his expression into something serious, he turns his front towards the ocean. "I must go back."

"What? But you just..." 

Ariel shakes her head softly, a sad smile on her face. "You are the one who broke my curse, Prince Eric. That is enough. This battle is mine and the consequences of my selfish desires. I cannot trouble you with..."

With the prince's grab for the slender wrist, he does not see how Ariel's lips widen with triumph.

_Hook, line and sinker._

Riddle stares back with disinterest as the Hearts Knave flails, holding the scepter and the crown of the Queen of Hearts, the blonde walking without pause in search of a bathroom. He had paint all over him. Ugh.

"Your Majesty! These are the symbols of your new reign. I cannot take this!"

The 'ordinary' girl stares coldly. "Yes, you can. And I am not the Red Queen. I am..."

~~_What the hell was this girl's name again?_ ~~

_"Alice."_ A whisper by his ear breathes. Riddle suppresses the emotion to scream. _Dignity and poise._

"Alice." Riddle echoes, raising a hand to his chest with an air of regality. Unintentionally. ~~_No, he did not practice when he was younger. What are these lies._~~ "Just Alice. Nothing more, nothing less. Deal with the inconsistencies of your government yourself. Allow your citizens a larger voice than before or something."

"But without a Queen, we do not have a central government that is strong enough to rule Wonderland! You even possess greater power than the Queen with your magic!"

Riddle is handed a hot towel, to which he gives a grateful nod to the March Hare.

"Then you follow the line of succession." The second Red Queen snaps. "There is the King of Hearts, isn't there?"

Silence.

Riddle sighs in it, finally wiping away the paint over his form as some servant held up a mirror for him. _When had he stopped walking?_ He wondered, glancing around to find himself in the Rose Gardens. Ah, the smell of roses always calmed his nerves.

"Yes, you are correct, Lady Alice. There _is_ the King of Hearts."

The Dorm Leader of Heartslabyul stiffens. He _knows_ that tone. It was the tone that Mother would use when she had suggested to him potential suitors that she favored. Mind, they were suggestions — never before was he grateful for Overblotting before graduating Night Raven College otherwise he would have probably be married against his will as well.

Receiving it from his mother is horrifying within itself.

But from the Heart Knave?

He does not realize that he is holding the scepter too far from his person. ~~_And close enough for Riddle to take._~~

Jamil has a feeling that this princess was just as keen as he was to marriage, to which was not at all. Therefore, when his beloved (His name is apparently Aladdin. And he was a peasant. Yes, yes, Father, your rebellious daughter is also _very_ shocked at this revelation.) is revealed in his true fashion and exiled v far away into the night.

The Vice Dorm Leader blinks. ~~_He has seen this somewhere before..._~~

But turns away because he has other priorities as he is suddenly wearing clothing suited to an expensive harem girl that dressed up as a princess rather than the actual princess. Like a young boy's imagination of a princess in her bed chambers.

It was not uncomfortable, though. He was a dancer, he had been in a number of skimpy robes before.

"Jasmine, _dear."_

Jamil turns, eyes lowered as he requested to fetch wine and to hand-feed the sorcerer from the fruit platter.

The princess obeys, handing the wine with a delicate hand.

"It is pleasant to see that you have finally accepted your place by my side, Jasmine." Jafar goes on, an idle hand on her hip, unaware that the princess was not reaching for the fruit.

"Of course, I never realized..." The velvet of the princess's voice cooed, as her sultry eyes hooded themselves, before opening in a flash; a hand striking at the advisor's throat, the magical pen stabbing through soft flesh, choking. "... how utterly _idiotic_ most men can be in underestimating women."

Tearing out his pen with the ruthlessness of a queen, the princess ignores the wide-eyed stare of Genie and her father as she uses magic of her own, eyeing the lamp.

~~_Now to end this little bedtime story..._ ~~

Leona is at a loss.

He looks at the oasis.

Nephew who wants to mate with him. (It makes his skin _crawl_ and his urge to vomit three-fold.) But water and prey are abundant. And there was no dumbass King of Beasts who had a bigger inferiority complex than he did.

He had depression. (And an almost over-it inferiority complex. Just a bit.) But not _that_.

He looks at Pride Rock.

Pride that always makes him hunt when he literally does not do that shit. Mockery of the King of Beasts. Because his version over in Twisted Wonderland _had_ to be better. Not this pathetic doppelgänger. But no emotionally-constipated nephew.

He sighs.

_"Nala!"_

_Fuck._

He is running to Pride Rock before he realizes it and curses under his breath. Oh, whatever. At least with his nephew's return, the Not-King of Beasts had a contender against his rule and with the support of the other lionesses, he would win the throne.

And by then, Leona had already determined that he was not here to stick around. _Yes, a plan._

Only to have it fucked up by his nephew, who was actually telling Scar to _run_.

 _What the fuck._ Any predator worth his claws or fangs knew that running was not an option. _Who the fuck raised this... fucking herbivores._ _This is why he hates children. Why were they so fucking troublesome, fucking annoying, fucking existing, and fucking alive._

Irritated, he makes his way over, as his nephew is still glaring at the Not-King of Beasts, paws soft but claws still out and tail still high, but head lowered.

Gods, his nephew was _fucking_ stupid.

With eyes on each other, neither of them see Leona as the lioness waltzes over — in his human form, because _fuck_ the rules — summoning his staff. Pivoting, he sees a pair of shocked eyes, both matching his original green ones and ones of his nephew, before delivering a magic-enhanced kick to the mock-King of Beasts over the cliffs to the hyenas.

"Thank _fuck_ that shit is over with." Glancing back, he eyes the backing former king. _"I'm starving."_

Idia _knows_ he is cornered.

He has incompetent materials, in a time period that is stupider than a _noob_ playing Dark Souls to not die, has been gender-bent like every anime character that has a remotely androgynous face and having trapped himself in a Save Room like a player when the Boss comes after them past the Boss Room. 

He is _fucked_.

Having no pause button, it takes him a minute to assess his Items.

**Idia's Magical Pen (MAX LEVEL)**

**1 Magenta Toga (Women's) (Defense: 2)**

**1 Pair of Sandal's (Women's) (Durability: 4)**

**1 Hair Tie (Women's) (Durability: 7)**

_What was with this useless inventory?! How was he supposed to beat this shitty game without any support items?_ Groaning at the poor design of this RPG, Idia looks around the temple and finds several things.

**Obtained: 5 Piles of Lapis Lazuli Powder, 1 Stick of Kohl, 6 Sets of Human Bones, 1 Furnace, 4 Boxes of Wine and a Box of Potassium Nitrite (Impure)**

Okay. _Okay._ It wasn't the best but... he can _work_ with it. Gripping his pen, he sets to it, drawing out a blueprint for something he had not created in years but was so mundane that even in these early stages of RPG, it was _plausible_ in creating.

A wide grin spreads on those colored lips.

And with luck, he could use the leftover kohl for his eyes. Not that anyone would see them after he was done making the multi-use invention. It's first use as his means to escape that MAX level ikemen, he saw those muscles and that pegasus CPU companion. He needed something volatile and fast.

So, it was natural of him to obviously build a small jet pack. _With extra features, just in case._

* * *

Jamil is about done with recreating his braids on the side of his head with golden coins, when he finally arrives to wherever Genie had sent him with the real time coordinates of his fellow misplaced students.

His first wish was to have Genie answer all of his questions (While Rajah is standing on Jafar's mangled throat, Great Seven or not, the touchy adviser had it _coming_.), the second to give him and all of his to-be companions a means out of here (to which the Genie waved that Azul would have the potions by the time they made their way over and merely expanded the magic carpet) and his last wish to ensure that the circumstances of the original tales of the Great Seven were to remain undisturbed after their leave.

The closest to him was apparently Leona at Pride Rock. ~~After tearing out Scar's throat.~~

To which the older man, now female like himself, perched at the tip of 'Pride Rock' as he argued with other lionesses — identifiable by this lioness' arrogant swagger. Jamil hears something about 'not marrying his damned nephew' and how does not 'give a fuck that the lineage needs to continue' before going on to rant about how they ran this place was none of his business.

"Excuse me." Jamil clears his throat, making all of them whirl to him, claws and fangs out in suspicion. Only the one he suspects to be Leona-san reacts differently as he seems to recognize Jamil despite his princess ensemble.

"Oh, thank Seven." Leona-san sighs out, climbing on the carpet. "Get us the _fuck_ out here, Viper."

"With pleasure." Jamil replies as they both sail into the air, basking in the sweet silence as they travel off north.

The Vice Dorm Leader does not comment on the blood on Leona-san's now feminine maws and the lioness repays the gesture by ignoring the very questionable splatter on his person. Perhaps he should have changed out of bloody clothes before setting off, but Genie was insistent that his 'Prince Ali' needed him while Jamil was pushed onto the carpet before it took off.

~~Oh, well.~~

"You have any idea the fuck happened to us, Viper?" Leona asks, his voice still deep and rich but clearly female.

"Apparently, the seven of us had been sucked into alternate universe — the original home of Ramshackle Dormitory, actually." Jamil begins, explaining that he had received this information from Genie, along with his plan to escape. "According to him, this is a reality that the Great Seven had not won their respective battles. As for why the seven of us specifically and why all seven of us had suddenly become female, I do not know."

"Some genie." Leona huffs, body language casual but his now-blue eyes cold. "Doesn't seem to know much."

"Hm." Jamil hums. But Leona-san doesn't call him out on it.

Instead, he groans out. "Do we _have to_ get the others?"

Jamil sympathizes. "Unfortunately, all of us are required for this mess to be resolved."

Leona feels his head throb at the idea.

Eventually, in the night air, they come to sights that neither boy had really seen before outside of the similarity to the Ignihyde's architecture. Well, at least that answered who they were looking for.

Shouting draws the lioness and Arabian princess from the sights as they are treated to the sight of a blue long-haired woman running away from a very handsome ~~(in an annoying chiseled way)~~ — "That fucker is _glowing_." Jamil looks just as perplexed. — young man, a small satyr, and... _was that a pegasus?_

Bewildered, the one princess and to-be-Queen of the savannah stare on as the shouting continues, watching the chase.

"Meg! Meg! Slow down! _Why are you running away?!"_

"Oi, sweetcheeks! That pillar hit you so hard, you dressing like Hades now?!"

"STOP CHASING ME, YOU WANNABE SHONEN! I'M _NOT_ MARRYING YOU TO COMPLETE THIS RPG ARC!" She hollers back.

"That's Idia." Leona curses, as Jamil quickly steers for them to be parallel to the running Idia, who for _some_ reason, is somehow overtaking them. "Oi dumbass, quit fucking running! How the fuck— _Oh, fuck this._ _IDIA!"_

 _"What the—_ Who, in Zeus' ass, are you two?!" The midget shouts.

"Beings that outrank you, filth." The skinny but exotically beautiful one hisses.

"None of your _fucking_ business, herbivore." The muscled, but with clear feminine form growls.

~~_Ah, truly students of Night Raven College._ ~~

"The _hell_ took you two so fucking long?!" Idia claws his way up with Jamil's help, as Leona unfurls a storm of sand at the chicken-horse first before punching Idia's ikemen in the face.

_Ow. What the fuck. What did that herbivore eat? Rocks?_

"You're welcome, you introverted ass!" Leona quips back while Jamil grimaces at the two's combined attack to buy the time needed to get away. Idia, like the two of them, is now a woman — blue hair in high ponytail, black eye-makeup at her eyes that match her black toga — pretty with a moody air even if it was clearly Idia's personality in there.

Idia blinks before frowning, sitting back against the soft carpet. "The hell happen to you two? Did all of just get transmigrated to this RPG too?"

As Leona decides that he has had enough with existing by napping, Jamil resigns himself to his fate, opening his mouth to explain as they continue in their flight.

It takes a shorter time to get to their next schoolmate, and is thankfully not being chased by anyone.

It is Vil.

On a horse, dressed in an impractical purple dress with golden embroidery ~~(stolen)~~ as a purple magic gem gleams in his black hair, airs arrogant and lined with sheer superiority. Even if the girl looked like a female Neige from the hair, the one who was inside was clearly Vil. And if that wasn't obvious, the handheld mirror is a dead giveaway.

 _"Finally._ It took you all long enough."

~~Yep, Vil.~~

"A word of thank you would be sufficient." Jamil replies back with subtle scathing but makes room for the other princess to dismount the horse and then towards the carpet.

Idia blinks, spotting a figure in the distance. "Is that an NPC shouting at us?"

"He is a potato, do not pay him mind. You should be more concerned with your posture, Idia. What is this hunched form? And Leona! I have already taught you how to walk, how useless can you be to be fail at sleeping posture as well? _Get up!"_

And with that, they leave.

Fortunately, it does not take them very far until they are greeted with a young woman in all black and was looking at a young buck contemplatively.

Jamil briefly wonders if this was why Malleus was never allowed to go anywhere without an escort. Just like Kalim.

"Ah. I see the rest of you were also turned into women."

"No shit." Leona rolls his blue eyes, grumbling.

"Obviously." Vil sniffs from the other side.

"Kingscholar. Schoenheit." Malleus identifies, before eyeing him and Idia who looks nervous at being outside of his room as he climbs on. "Viper. And Shroud. That leaves us with Ashengrotto and Rosehearts."

"Azul is most likely last, seeing as he will be the one who will have the means to get us out of here."

And his prediction is correct. But sadly, the trip from Malleus' mysterious location that looked like it was infested with a large outcropping of black thorns — like a _whole_ forest of it — was not as short as the trip from Vil's, leaving the shared space to conversation.

Conversation like which one had it perpetually worse than the other.

"This fashion disaster of primary colors," Vil begins, practically spewing venom, but was too dignified for such vulgar displays. "Is a princess called 'Snow White', and if the company she keeps is to be true, is a naive _fool_. Voluntarily eating food offered by shady strangers. How idiotic and unhealthy."

"At least yours wasn't betrothed to your own _whelp_ of a nephew." Leona snaps, growling under his mane of blonde hair. "The cub was following me everywhere and wouldn't even leave until I high-tailed it back to Pride Rock and snapped at the annoying king."

"And that would be the blood on your face?" Vil wrinkles his nose, raising a gloved hand. "How vulgar. To leave evidence."

"Not all of us got to be prim little princesses like you and the lizard over here." Leona points to Malleus.

"Shroud is the only one here who is not a princess." Malleus retorts with an open palm, primly seated beside Idia. "But nonetheless, a lady of high standing. Queen-to-Be is the best equivalent of a princess, a female next to the throne. You would know that, Kingscholar, being an actual prince yourself."

"Tch." The lioness clicks his lip. "At least I don't look like some damsel in distress."

And it was true, out of the ones present, Malleus was the one with the most petite form, as pale as Vil. The Pomefiore princess, at least, looked strong enough to do menial tasks. Leona and himself were more muscled than the others but had slender forms all the same that screamed feminine wiles as Idia was. Aside from their own changes in appearance at least.

"I am not a damsel in distress." Malleus retorts, looking off to the horizons. "I had awakened far before that prince had arrived."

"It appears that all of us have entered a person with suitors after them." Jamil adds, adjusting his crown and mildly tugging at his heavy earrings. "It is understandable, being princesses, they would have a number of them."

"Clearly, they had their priorities straight." Vil huffs, looking at his reflection forlornly. He wanted his face back, not this... _ugh_. "Marrying the first man who was attracted to your dead _corpse_. Yes, top of the line decision-making."

Jamil pulled a face as did the others. Even Leona, who sent a sympathetic glance.

But then again, being betrothed to one's nephew was pretty bad too.

"But I am not even this female CPU." Idia grumbles, displaying his magical gem in his hair tie as he groans in his hands. "And yet I had to wake up from the dead to one of them running after me with his Protagonist Companion."

As usual, the others vaguely understood that the ordeal was just as taxing on Idia.

In true fashion, Jamil decides this is the best time. "I was hit on by the Sorcerer of Sand."

Everyone stares.

"You're _sixteen_."

"I stabbed him in the throat with my pen before commanding my pet tiger to maul him."

Vil nods at the violence approvingly with Malleus, as Idia grumbles about how he would rather be dead, while Leona lays back and bemoans to the skies. _"I hate this place."_

They find only half of Riddle, because the lower half of his body is stuck underground. And like them, he is female — and his face is as red as his original hair from trying to remove himself from his current predicament, arms clamped to his sides. His hair is dandelion yellow and with similar blue eyes of Malleus' princess self as they are most understandably confused when they hover over him.

"Please do not tell me you're another one, insisting that I marry the King of Hearts." Riddle deadpans as they arrive, before eyeing them more clearly.

"We have had enough martial proposals for one day." Malleus replies as he snaps his fingers as the earth shifts to the fae's command, releasing the blonde to reveal his red-black dress of hearts and spades.

~~Yup. Riddle Rosehearts.~~

Holding out a hand, Jamil gestures to the open carpet. "Climb on."

Riddle eyes the rest of them, recognizing each one before narrowing. "We are missing Azul."

"Azul's the last one." Idia replies, having taken to braiding his long hair into one large one. "Jamil-kun's genie has been accurate on his player information so far."

"I see." Riddle nods, clearly contrary to his words as he looks to the others for explanation.

Vil takes up the mantle this time, while Idia grumbles how everyone was too much of noob to understand the articulation of weeb language. Leona yawns in the background, still asleep as Malleus adjusts the brooch that doubled as his magic pen while silently mourning the loss of his horns — _How can he be Tsunotarou with his horns?_ — leaving Vil to fill in Riddle on their situation.

"What the hell happened to you?"

All of them know what Leona is addressing, the red stains all over the Dorm Leader of Heartslabyul.

Riddle shrugs. "I exiled the Red Queen and got rose paint on me." ~~Most of it, anyway.~~

The shock factor was dying as none of them even blinked. "What did the she imply to you, Rosehearts?"

"She implied that I was too short for her court."

Vil raises an eyebrow. "I was never aware that there was a height requirement within Heartslabyul."

"Rule No. 197 was revoked and amended with the new Rule No. 197, that states the height of an individual did not matter in court, but instead the size of their head." Riddle explains as if it were common knowledge. "Thus, the disallowance of small children outside of formal invitation."

Before anyone can mention how random or moronic that rule of court was one of the rules enforced in a college dorm, the carpet takes off one last time, this time toward the ocean. Soon, in every direction for miles, all that could be seen was the blue of the ocean reflected off into the skies.

There seemed to be a problem. _How were they going to get Azul's attention, when he was underwater?_

Luckily before anyone could decide what to do from the ~~Night Raven College exclusive~~ options of 'blasting the ocean until the octopus hears', 'throwing Idia overboard to find him', or 'shouting until Azul sees' — a head of wet hair broke the surface, eyeing the debate.

"—not _stupid."_

"You suggested to throw Idia-senpai overboard and let him _drown_." Riddle deadpans, blue eyes unamused.

"Your point?"

"We need _all_ seven of us to get back." Jamil reminds helpfully. "Therefore, we need Idia-senpai to be alive for the time being."

"Then we don't let him drown." Malleus motions over the surface.

"Suggestions?" Vil hums, eyeing the waters or his reflection. ~~Either was liable really.~~

Leona looks contemplative. _"Bait."_

"I don't know whether to be insulted on my behalf or Idia-san's, but seeing how you all of not noticed how Idia-san has invented a small device for him drift over to me, let us settle this matter, seeing how I have surfaced." A melodic voice sings, as they turned to find the Greek woman Idia embodied hovering beside a mermaid with a wide grin.

She rested on a slab of ice, her upper half covered by a purple tank top, encrusted by pearls as her lower half was full fish-tailed, green and fins unfurled at the hips and ends. Her hair was as bright as Riddle's and clipped with Octavinelle's magic pen as the rest was pulled away in a low tail. Not to mention, the black pouch over her shoulders, as she stared at them with unimpressed sea green eyes.

"Azul?"

The mermaid shrugs, coaxing the floating Idia to return to the carpet now that he had appeared. "Princess Ariel, in this sea. But close enough, I suppose. And judging from all of you, I appear to be the last one. _Good_. This particular magic requires that all of us are here."

"I thought as much." Vil nods, as he catches the pouch, eyeing the contents. "What is this?"

"Out of the seven of us, you and I are the best at Alchemy and Pharmaceutics, therefore, since I am the only one that can get the particular conduit that we need for this to work — you need to brew it. All the materials needed are inside. Jamil-san is also rather proficient if you require assistance."

"As if I would require such."

Azul smiles sharply. "Of course."

Thankfully, it does not take long for Azul to return.

"Is that a fork?" Riddle asks, perplexed.

"No." Malleus answers, as Azul rises from the waters with legs and a black skirt this time, barefoot onto the carpet before gesturing the weapon in his hands, pointed downward. Jamil frowns, noticing. "That is a trident, more specifically, the Sea King's Trident."

"Correct, Malleus-san." Azul nods as Vil passes around the finished potion with a look of skepticism. "I had borrowed it for temporary use, do not fret."

"For what?" Leona rises from his slumped form, instincts screaming at him.

"The potion first, Leona-san." The mermaid princess smiles genuinely. ~~Lies. There was nothing genuine about this creature.~~

 _Suspicion hung in the air, but there was no protest from Vil nor Malleus._ Leona reasoned, knowing those two would have protested if anything that needed alarm to be warranted. With a disdained eye at the red contents, the lioness drinks with the others after Azul takes it himself.

Leona immediately finds himself coughing. And from a glare to Azul and the others, they are not much better. "A-And to... ***cough*** answer y-your question, Leona-san. I need it. _For this."_

With a snap of his fingers, a contract of Azul's 'It's a Deal' appears before the trident floats out of the second Sea Witch's hands and into the ocean along with the carpet under them. Making them suddenly _free-falling_ several feet into the ocean with no fucking land for miles.

~~_He was going to die in the ocean with these people._ ~~

Leona is planning for the octopunk's murder when another snap is heard. Suddenly between him and death by drowning is the coffin he arrived in this stupid world — alternate universe, hell, or whatever the fuck shit place this was.

The last thing he knows is the thump of his body against cushioned stain and the smell of sterile, embalming fluid.

It never smelled so _good._

~~_(Get him the fuck out of this place.)_ ~~

* * *

As the Dorm Leaders (and one Vice Dorm Leader) tumbled out of the coffin in a heap, they all swore the same mentally: _Never again._

It is addressed later on the details of 'how they got back', when they all meet at the Headmaster's office, when he is not in.

~~(Best to not let the Headmaster believe that they worked together well or something more outrageous, like being friends. And the gracious crow would never look for them here.)~~

"Simple." Azul shrugs, in his uniform when he is questioned. "We had all arrived into each of the respective princesses (and lady of noble standing) were dying or one their way to their respective 'near deaths'. So, the way we must return is to _'die'_ again."

Leona stares at him. "So, we drank poison."

Malleus raises a hand with a small smirk. "It was brewed by _Schoenheit_ , after all."

"Not everything I brew is poisons, you bastard. As if I would limit my brilliance in skills on poisons alone. Anything can be a poison if you are given a high enough dosage." Vil huffs, eyeing his ~~perfect~~ reflection with a small grin. "I figured that Azul had an idea in mind to take us back and since he drank it himself."

The Sea Witch sighs in mock hurt. "How cruel of you all to assume the worst of me. But yes, after I was engaged—"

Eyes swiveled to him. _"Engaged?!"_

The octopus continued as if with no interruption. "—to Prince Eric, whom had asked for my hand. I had accepted before King Triton had been informed of the details, angering him that his youngest daughter was marrying a human, working out a deal between us."

"What kind of deal?" Vil narrows his eyes.

"Confidential, unfortunately." A pause. "But seeing how as the contract has been fulfilled, the details would not hurt. In summary, King Triton was to remove the Sea Witch to commandeer her lair to get the ingredients our poison, while I promised to break off my engagement and return to being a mermaid."

"But you were human again on the carpet?" Idia frowns.

"That was because King Triton did not honor my condition of not trying to kill Eric. He was not particularly entertained when we were found kissing on the beach, his hand at the clasp of my dress."

Jamil rubs his chin with a small chuckle, reminded of his own act for murder. "So, that was how you were able to take his trident."

"Yes." Azul nods, before sighing. "And if Prince Eric were to suddenly drown after being heartbroken by his merfolk lover who had to return to her kingdom... well, that would be a coincidence, wouldn't it?"

Jamil silently was thankful that he had made his last wish.

He does not even want to think about the chaos left behind from their actions — besides, who said he wished that _everything_ would be exactly the same?

~~_That world deserved it, after all. For all the grief it put them through._ ~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno where this came from. I started with Vil being Snow White and went from there~ Clearly, it morphed into this long thing. (Plus I wanted Crowley to be distressed.)
> 
> Vil's takes place just before the Prince gets there, Malleus' is when Prince Philip is in middle with battle against Maleficent, Azul's is early morning of the 'Kiss the Girl' scene, Riddle's takes place at the very beginning when Alice falls into Wonderland, Jamil's takes place the morning after the 'A Whole New World' ride, Leona's takes place just after the time jump but before the dramatic Simba and Nala reunion, and Idia's takes place just before Meg wakes up in Hercules' arms.
> 
> The bois are unsympathetic to the plot, and do as they please. Which leads to more death, chaos, and higher ratings for audience viewing as they 'work together' to get out of there. My favs to write were Idia's, Vil's, Azul's and Jamil's plus when they were discussing how to get Azul's attention.
> 
> And I canon that these bois can work together if they want to, just on their own terms (which is if they absolutely have to - same, because I relate) and sure as hell are not going to tell Crowley about it. Therefore, meet at his office when he's not in there out of spite.
> 
> Something a bit fluffier and more fun this time around. Hope you like it~


	5. sanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because they can, AU. Or a different take in the minds of Riddle, Leona, Azul, Jamil and Vil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Graphic Descriptions of Violence and Blood, Lack of Morals, Parenticide, Manipulation, Poison, Venom, Predator and Prey, Mental Issues (clearly), Mind Manipulation, Murder, Cannibalism (I think...), Taboo, Disrespect of the Dead, Overblot Allusions and Madness.
> 
> Takes place before and through Chapters 1-5 only.

**_‘i am too insane to explain and you are too normal to understand.’_ **

Riddle is not stupid. Far from it actually. His mother insists he is a genius — which he _is_ , but not the kind that she insists. He is aware that he is a little more than his mother’s belonging, a living doll that she can dress up and mold to her ideals, stemming from her own failures in youth.

That didn't make her a bad parent, just overbearing.

It is almost pitiful. It is too bad that Riddle does not care.

All the studies, rule memorizing, strict diets, magical lessons — all of them were sensible in Riddle’s opinion. His mother wanted the very best for her genius son and everyone made sure to deliver to the expectant woman. Impressive for a woman who considered herself to be a failure.

He isn't one.

And because of that, he just _can_.

That is why he goes with Trey and Che’nya. That is why they are late. Riddle knows his schedule better than his own mother. Trey sees him grin at the clock, confused at his mirth. But like the good card he is, he does not say anything.

Predictably, she finds them.

Che’nya tries to divert the blame.

Riddle frowns. _What an imbecile. He was going to ruin all of his efforts._

“It has been two hours since I had left, Mother. You are getting sloppy.”

Trey and Che’nya stare at him like the dead-fish he saw the cook hit before removing it’s head, wide-eyed. Riddle asked once why the cook hit it when it was going to be dead anyway — it was a fish, what did it matter whether it was withering in pain or unconscious? — he found it personally more entertaining when it was flopping around, desperate to live despite the inevitable execution of the cleaver. And like his mother had done when the incident was reported to her, he is dragged away into his cage with his captor, alone. He notes that his mother is shaking.

~~Like she had then.~~

She scolds him, holding onto him like he is fragile. He thinks it’s the opposite.

He wraps his little arms around her neck and wonders what would happen if he squeezes it as she whispers that all of it was for his own good. He wonders if she will squirm like the bird he had — neck snapping in the spine, eyes bulging from the sockets as it sang the most wonderful cries.

He does not want his mother to die. But he is not against the idea.

That’s why he stares blankly when his mother bleeds out in the rose maze. Her blood soaks the white petals, dripping into a lovely crimson that has little Riddle enamored, how pretty and eye-catching. She fell from a broken heel on one of her high-heeled shoes — one that Riddle noticed time after time but… he was _curious_ — and with the misfortune of being near thorned stems, the soft flesh of her neck nearly tore all the way.

 _“Off with your head.”_ Riddle hums, kneeling by his dying mother. Perhaps, there was a legitimate reason the Red Queen of Hearts was his favorite outside of her ridiculous rules. 

Little gasps and weak groping hands reach for him as he continues to observe — his mother is going to be dead. He is momentarily sad. Then, he isn’t anymore.

Hm.

The servants find him, immediately hugging him.

They say he can’t cry because he’s in shock. That he hasn’t processed the trauma of his mother dying in front of him. Riddle begs to differ. He has done all the processing needed. She is dead. No longer with him in this world. And that event was the most exhilarating thing that he has ever seen.

Riddle cradles the half-painted rose, now stained with darkening blood and smiles.

_He cannot wait to try again._

Leona knows he is unsuitable for the throne — he doesn’t care. Farena can have it, because it all was so dull, wanting what is best for all. Peace and for the circle of life to continue — Leona has never heard so much benevolent bullshit in his life when his older brother repeats the words of their father verbatim.

But it’s not all his fault. All of them are so very dull.

They preach the laws of the wilderness and how fangs and claws are the only dependent weapons one can have, yet all are so quick to use their magic. Given, it is very versatile and Leona, himself, favors the utility of magic for it is one of the remaining things in this world are interesting.

But they are blind to what those words truly mean.

As with magic, only works when you are better than your opponent and are capable.

And he is the Second Prince of Afterglow Savannah, wielder of the King’s Roar — the traitorous blood of the second son courses through him, he is plenty capable. And no one knows that better than Farena.

He was so generous to his big brother. He gave so many hints. Truly, he may have been soft once upon a time.

He and Farena were just cubs then, when they found an elephant with a broken leg, dying amongst the graveyard of it’s kin. Farena, being the lion he was, tried to comfort the flesh mound while Leona stared on.

It was dying. Dead. Prey for the taking. Why bother. It couldn’t move. It was as good as dead.

“Leona! We can’t just leave him.”

“Why not?”

“He’s… That’s just too _cruel!”_ Farena protests, before jutting out his bottom lip. He looks so stupid. “We’ll use magic to heal him!”

“You and what magic?” Leona sighs, before standing. “I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get help.” The younger cub sways his tail with a small grin, toxic eyes aglow. "Be prepared, _Farena."_

It is not entirely a lie. And if it counted, it is hardly his first time.

He returns with hyenas and vultures — laughing and giggling as they thank the younger cub for the gracious meal. Farena, just a small cub himself, runs off with his tail between his legs. He meets his own green eyes with scared and betrayed red ones as he runs, knowing somehow his little brother is responsible.

 _Why?_ His brother's eyes scream.

His scarred eye glints in the blood red sunset. _Because he can._

The Second Prince watches until the end. As those screams and cries of mercy go unheard in the background of scavengers, chunks of bleeding flesh are torn off without concern that the prey was alive, even the marrow within the bones sucked away for filling the gut — _this_ was the laws of the wilderness.

And the inhabitants of Afterglow Savannah were so docile in comparison.

Their Second Prince, he is — and it is his responsibility to teach what his _dear_ older brother cannot — for they are all so dull to not see the beauty in such wonderful carnage.

_He does not need the throne when he already has one of his own fashion._

Azul is not perfect. He has been informed of that fact many times, so, he makes the proper amends. He perfects his magic and destroys any reminder of those imperfections, whether they recall it or not, what matters is that he does and that he can. He finds that he _loves_ it — there is no other delicacy in the seas than to give hope and happiness to the poor unfortunate souls before tearing it away from them. 

Not even tetrodotoxin is as invigorating.

He is from the sea and he is as violent as it is serene. All of Neptune's realm was — there is a reason why the most fast-acting venoms and versatile traps are found here, all of the colors are warnings to not consume, not if one had a strategy of their own to counter. Predator and prey literally swam in the bits of flesh of the fallen — no ceremonies were done in the waters.

A bubble to indicate your disappearance is generous enough.

But it is because of this harshness that Azul _thrives_.

He knows hardship. He knows things he wants. He knows things others want. _He knows._

And so do Jade and Floyd. His precious eels, and him their willing prey. It is a symbiotic relationship of the twins to have their fun and for him to have at his apparent command. He does not mind, for it is the thrilling dance of prey and predator, consistently harming one another yet completely codependent.

The twins notice him when everyone else does. Because Azul wants it to be that way.

At their elementary school, Azul sits in the back. It is for isolation and a vantage point, not that the sheltered merfolk know that. Unlike him, the twins do not need it, they are strong enough by themselves and have electricity at their command. Azul doesn't. But it is no matter. It is inconsequential in the end.

To the obliviousness of the prey, the octopus has every one of them under the terms of their individual deal.

Why?

Well.

_Because Azul can._

Some paid in full. Some paid in part. Some did not. It is in no true consequence — for Azul, has all he needs. Their consent and a clause that has them be his anemones to his bidding the moment they sign his contract, nothing outside of destruction, can free them from, is all he needs. He has had so many test subjects over the years, perfecting his magic — for he is a filial son. His mother needs the meat for her restaurant. 

At lunch, the young fry or otherwise are allowed to wander for their lunch, consuming as they please. Consumption of peers is generally not a problem until middle school.

But it does not mean, it does not occur. This lunch is this rarity.

Azul hums to himself as he floats above the field of young, paralyzed mermaids and mermen, pleading. He sees Jade and Floyd swim over, coiling above him. He invites them to the feast, kind smile unchanged. Even as the dark blood pollutes the reef, inviting sharks and their cousins, his smile does not wane — he was wanting to speak to them anyway.

Their mermaid teacher is too frightened to say anything when only the three of them are present with a few survivors.

_~~For what good was his power if there weren't others to spread it through the waves for him?~~ _

Azul was kind enough to bring back his classmates' belongings. For if there was something more fun than happiness torn from poor souls, it was the look on the loved ones and how they failed. All because they crossed paths with him. And they could not say anything, for in their world, he is _benevolent_.

_Why perfection, when it was imperfections that made souls come running into his tentacles?_

Jamil is the servant, bound to Kalim Al-Asim, it is what he is introduced as because it is such an integral part of him. He does not mind, as it is what he is. His master was the opposing of what he is — kind, bright and happy-go-lucky while being practically useless in any life skill, as expected of a master. He has no need for such skills, like Jamil does. All Kalim needs to be is to be alive and content.

It is his job to take care of the rest.

As the servant, he is grateful. Any wrongdoing is indirectly the fault of the master. And he, as the servant, is here to clean it all away. It is no matter to concern his master with.

Jamil stares into the stars, wondering into the great beyond with brief contemplation of that night.

It was a night similar to this one.

Kalim had turned in by then, and himself in the small room in the adjacent when the screaming began. He bolts up from his chambers, eyes scanning for his master in the darkness. Only to find him gone from the silken sheets — warm-hearted Kalim, is in other wing, murdering his half-siblings as they scream for their lives.

Seeing his master covered in blood, face blank to the dying, the servant intervenes, disarming the guard that tries to attack his master. His master may be the criminal, but he is _his_ master — the one who Jamil Viper was bound to until death. And it was not yet time for the heir of the Al-Asim name to die just yet.

Jamil colors his hands with crimson that looks black in the darkness as he tries to stop his master.

"Sire! It is me! Your servant! Jamil! _Please stop!"_

Kalim's ruby eyes look at him hazily. _"...Jamil?"_

Jamil reaches forward but stops himself, both of them alone in the carnage and covered in blood. Kalim looks around, then, looks at him with broken eyes, before choking in a soft sob when he sees one of his youngest brothers bleeding at their feet, remaining eye glazed. "J-Jamil... _what_... what have I done? _What did I do?!"_

Jamil does not answer and instead, picks up his master. Shaking and crying as sobs echo in the hallways, no one notices the small smile under the hood of servant of Kalim.

It is the next morning, that Jamil is summoned by the Head of the Al-Asim clan. He is knelt before the sire of his master.

"Do not let him remember."

"Sire..."

"I have rid of all of those who are aware. Kalim... he only killed a few of his siblings last night in one of the smaller wings and the servant wing. It is a small consequence to protect the Al-Asim name."

Jamil bows low. "I understand, sire."

Therefore, Kalim does not remember. He does not remember how he killed Jamil's family. He does not remember how he killed his own kin. He does not remember how he was so broken in the aftermath that he refused to even acknowledge anyone but Jamil. 

But it is fine.

For Jamil is content. Content how his master moves to his commands and suggestions. He is his master's servant.

He will take care of it all, so that the master did not have to concern himself with it.

 _All because he can._ And Kalim can't.

Vil dances in the soft light of the moon, ethereal and with angelic fluidity. Even in his exhausted form, he is without a flaw to his appearance — his beauty is the source of envy to all, a combination of his efforts and the inheritance of genealogy that is not under his control. He is not arrogant enough to believe that he was superior due to the former but he knows just as any poison does, that he is dangerous because of his beauty.

Mortals weave tales of it — how every god, goddess or worshipped being was of great beauty that hides the godly wrath underneath.

Vil embodies it.

The tales of men who have fallen due to the words of a beauty are countless in history, for it is the weapon everyone underestimates — hearing of the tales of the predecessors and being self-assured that they are above such seduction, only for them to be the ones who fall first.

For they do not know how it feels to be sought after, relentlessly and all-suffering. Like a piece of _meat_.

Vil revels in it as he teaches them what it truly means to be chased after. 

Ah, what satisfaction runs through him. 

Like with every diligence, Vil begins early.

He needs practice. And it really doesn't take him long to come to this conclusion.

The to-be Roi de Poison is true to his name because there is one incident in particular that makes Vil's expression soften with nostalgia — he is about a few feet tall when he evolves from the elementary definition of poison. In this, a poison is a substance that can kill or can cause death when consumed or absorbed — there is more to it than that, for a poison is best when it is undetected and completely harmless in appearance.

Chronic or acute, injected or inhaled, burning or freezing from the inside out, bleeding away or locked away — the possibilities make Vil shiver.

No one notices when small animals die mysteriously — a young deer in their sleep, a few squirrels after a cold winter and three or so rabbits stiffened from being undiscovered.

Then, little children got ill.

But it was normal.

Children got sick all the time, shivering and feverish to the touch. Vil, himself, is no exception.

Some die and some don't. All the ones Vil wants to die do though. How odd.

"Vil? What are you doing?"

Vil pauses in his dance in the moonlight and turns.

It's Jack.

Jack is not beautiful. Not like Vil is. Instead, he is beautiful in his own way — unpolished and so sweet under that frown. _Sweet enough to kill if pushed ever so meticulously._

"Dancing, dear Jack." He whispers, champagne locks almost white in the lighting.

He looks like an angel, Jack thinks. But Jack knows better. There is something _off_ about Vil. Something wrong. He forces himself to focus. "In the children's graveyard?"

"Did you know, Jack, that silver could have been used for these potatoes?" Vil asks instead, his hands gesturing to the small bodies under them.

Jack tilts his head. _Silver? Silver was a metal that was not coveted and it had no real magical use outside of..._

_Poison detection._

The wolf finds himself taking a step back.

He stares. Vil never wears silver, it was always gold and colors rare in nature. The to-be Roi de Poison has been generous, using mere poisons that could have been detected. Jack knows that Vil is capable of much more. And yet, here he is, dancing in the moonlight, his victims underfoot and undiscovered in the earth, buried away even though Vil was kind enough to make a poison with residue.

 _He is getting off of it_. Jack realizes. _That he could have been caught. That he had escaped unscathed._

Vil smiles soft in the graveyard, his little hands that remind him of the boy that was the victim of ill talk.

Jack's resolve crumbles ever so. ~~_And never rebuilds._~~

When Jack hears of how the town has taken ill from contaminated water from damaged water pipes under the same graveyard, he knows and sees a poison that darkens silver with black rust, spreading like a dark mold — revealing the circumstances under the alluring visage.

 _"Why?"_ He finds himself asking when he stomps over to Pomefiore.

Vil dances like he did then, deep amethyst eyes coy as he delivers the same answer. _"Because I can, my dear."_

And Jack, under the web woven by the beautiful creature before him, can only _seethe_.

Despite the efforts and change in attitude, Overblot still happens to each of them. _One by one._

Trey sees it in Riddle, just how Farena and later, Ruggie had for Leona. How the twins did for the prey they end up caring for as does Kalim despite all the faults of his servant, they saw it too in Azul and Jamil. Like how Jack and Rook saw it in Vil.

The _madness_ that dwelled in each of them.

The Overblot was merely a full manifestation of it, exposing the darkness to the surface.

How the ink was always there, and how they couldn't understand it. _No matter how hard they tried._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be one day I will be sick of writing about Overblot. Today is not that day. ¯\\_( ◉ 3 ◉ )_/¯
> 
> My favs to write were basically all of them cuz this one is different from the others in that the five are not really victims per se and more of makers of their own undoing. But is it undoing if they are enjoying the ride? And basically they are a bit OOC but at the same time, the core of their personality is still there.
> 
> Only these five because only have five chaps is out.
> 
> Hope you all like it~


End file.
